Happy Holidays from the team at Early Days Biplanes! Whatever religion you subscribe to, if you subscribe to one, we hope that it proved to be a fulfilling and very merry time. That was certainly the case on our end, with lots of exciting adventures that were born out of a visit to our home state of Georgia. Although the state may lack certain attractions such as Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome in New York, the National Air and Space Museum in Washington, D.C. or the Golden Age Air Museum in Pennsylvania, its rich aviation history and rolling mountains that are interlaced with patches of rolling fields tend to grip our hearts with a strength that is incomparable. The story of an Air Mail arrow atop a Cartersville mountain was of particular interest on this trip, not to mention the wonderful selection of books that were added to our ever-growing library.

Contract Air Mail route #30 was issued to Interstate Airlines on August 9th, 1928 and was from Atlanta, Georgia to Chicago, Illinois with numerous stops along the way. With its tip still pointing the way to Nashville, this exhausted concrete arrow rests stoically atop a Cartersville mountain while refusing to resign its duty of guiding pilots to a safe landing at their next stop along the way. Regardless of the brutal weather conditions that sweep through the southeastern United States, this arrow has remained on station for almost a century for pilots and visitors alike to tell the story of the United States Air Mail service. It has been kept in remarkable condition with no cracks in the concrete and metal brackets still sticking out of it from where the beacon tower used to stand. If you are in the area, I highly suggest you visit it. It is contained within a gated community off I-75 but the gate was open so we drove right through to the site and spent as much time as we pleased there. It was an absolute pleasure to walk around this historical site and absorb every minute of its history. For some time before we left, we even played the recognizable sounds of Wright J5s at takeoff and in cruise from our phones to get the full effect. It was quite a special time and one that I will remember forever.

As mentioned above, the library also boasted some new additions that were very welcome to the Early Days Biplanes home base. These new additions were, “Airpower” by Major Al Williams, “Hollywood Pilot” by Don Dwiggins, another Don Dwiggins piece titled “They Flew The Bendix Race”, a softcover book by the EAA titled “The Golden Age of Air Racing- Pre 1940”, “A Flying Fighter” by Royal Flying Corps Lieutenant E. M. Roberts, “The Flying Poilu” by Marcel Nadaud, and “En l’Air!” by famous Lafayette Escadrille aviator Bert Hall. Quite the selection if you ask me! I am very thankful to add these books to the shelves of the library, especially because the last three are original copies from the late 1910’s and Airpower is actually signed by Al Williams himself. Some pieces! Expect photos of these books and glimpses of their contents to be posted to the website under our ‘Research ‘Library’ tab alongside our numerous other wonderful aviation books. I don’t have a timeline on when these will be uploaded but it should be soon. There are a great many photos that still need to be added to our website’s Research Library so keep an eye out for these as well.

In news unrelated to holidays, general work for the EDB project will be picking back up soon to include book reviews, photo uploading, website updates, Blog posts, and numerous other tasks to stay involved with vintage aviation and accomplish the mission and goals we have outlined under our ‘About’ tab. Believe me.. there is enough to stay busy! As it stands at the time of writing this, there are 25 books (not including the ones mentioned above!) that need to be photographed and added to the Research Library! In addition to this, I just finished another book about the first monoplane aviator in Georgia and intend to write a review of that book within the next month or two. Add that to a post about the story of the Cartersville air mail arrow and I think I have my work cut out for me! All lovely things and all things and I am beyond grateful to do every single day.

Well, that’s our holiday update! Yes, we know it was more than a little late, but we have been extremely busy on the homefront doing all the behind the scenes work for this project. We hope you enjoyed this small glimpse into our wonderful holiday season and hope you had just as jolly of a time this Christmas and New Year season. Thank you for reading and visiting our website!

Rear of the arrow. This is where the shack that housed essentials for keeping the beacon and arrow functional was constructed.

The tip of the entire arrow. It is in remarkable condition.

Yours truly, removing himself from the strife of the modern world and placing himself in the cockpit of a Stearman Speedmail at 1am.

No head on a quicker swivel could have seen it coming; from out of the blinding eastern sun, a circus of lethal Fokker DVIIs pounced on four Bristol Fighters in formation. At the far right of the Brisfit formation was pilot Lieutenant Coach and observer Lieutenant Adair, both noticing the attack too late. They huddled into the fuselage as splinters of wood fragmented into their faces and holes were drawn into the drumming green fabric of their wings from the supersonic bullets fired from a squadron of twin Spandau machine guns. It all happened at a remarkable pace; as quickly as the Germans cracked their rounds into the Bristol formation, they flew through it to zoom climb into another advantageous position for attack. To ride the Hun’s tails as they passed down through the formation, Coach unhesitatingly dumped the nose of the burly Bristol Fighter and began to press the attack. Boring a hole through the freezing sky and immediately squaring up a Hun in his sights, Coach squeezed the trigger on the stick and a volley of rounds was pumped into the left side of an unfortunate diving Fokker. Without warning, as speed was violently increasing in the dive, the German’s upper left wing folded in on itself as the pilot initiated the pull-up, but down he went in a tumbling mass of fabric-coated scaffolding with no chance of survival. As quickly as that victory was scored, the entire sky erupted into a vicious hornet’s nest of activity. With the throttle hard against the firewall, the force of gravity smashed the Brisfit crew into the floor of the aircraft as Coach hauled the stick into his lap to keep their machine in a constant state of movement.

The Rolls-Royce Falcon engine was sounding reverberant, brutal waves of exertion through their bodies and the propeller was tunneling holes through the atmosphere at over 2000 revolutions per minute. Under the strain of a six-G pull towards the upward vertical position, Adair, bullishly forcing his head to move continuously under the aggressive forces, spotted another rabid Fokker attempting to bite the flesh out of their Brisfit. The DVIIs cherry red cowling and lozenge wings reflected deceivingly innocent rays of sunshine as its teeth inched ever closer to sinking into their aircraft. From the time it took to pull the nose up from pointing earthward to swinging upward through the horizon, Adair muscled the twin-Lewis gun arrangement onto the Fokker and rapidly fired a burst directly into its engine compartment, setting the entire aircraft aflame as if he stuck a match and threw it at the Dutch bus. Down it went into an ungracefully steep dive ahead of an oily-black cloud, but there was no time to celebrate. Countless silver-winged crates cluttered the sky no matter where one looked. Innumerable tracer rounds weaved geometrical patterns throughout the clouds until the atmosphere ran out of blue and the clouds ran out of cotton. Wind was slapping their faces from all sides as they wrenched their way through the confusing mass of activity and necks were twisting to their limits to maintain situational awareness. Their Brisfit was now upside down in a swarm of angry wasps as they pulled through a loop, both pilot and observer scouring for another target while keeping their tail clear of unfriendlies. With the wires and engine screaming, Adair’s whirlwind eyes, being more technically trained than Coach’s, spotted another pugnacious DVII in a bank and inching into an attacking position from their left side, almost exactly perpendicular to their line of travel.

Again, gritting his teeth and swinging the Scarff machine gun assembly around to meet the attacking German, Adair pulled the triggers while he and their Brisfit were upside down and split the Hun aircraft in two; the upper wing fluttering into the ether and shattering itself while the heavier fuselage sank towards the earth like it was personally thrown from the hand of God. At the same time as this action, Coach spotted an enemy aircraft on their nose and forced the stout two-seater Bristol out of the loop on the “backside”, in an inverted position nearly 45 degrees nose down. His move was too late; as soon as Coach began the rollout, the Fokker in his sights instantly detonated from incendiary rounds fired from another Bristol Fighter’s guns. Continuing the rollout with the stick planted against one leather-covered leg, Coach’s eyes were scanning the sky to the tune of Adair’s twin-Lewis’ firing incessantly at another assailant. The burley two-seater was now in a left bank, standing on its left wingtip, and a German was approaching them from directly above. Looking back while in the sweeping turn across the horizon, Coach spotted Adair’s twin barrels pointing directly upwards into the infinite blue sky with Adair’s back exactly parallel to the ground, still standing up and battling the unpredictable rolling and pulling forces of their aircraft. German bullets were zipping through their machine and the unmistakable crack of machine gun rounds rang in their ears but Coach had no time to check the result of this brawl, for his eyes immediately went ahead again to ensure they did not collide with any of the other machines.

He rolled wings level and pulled hard back on the stick again, sending his cheeks almost down to his feet, just in time to meet another Fokker diving on a fellow Bristol off to the right side. Slamming in full right rudder, the Brisfit keeled over on one wingtip and eventually tipped over onto its back. Releasing the pressure on the rudder bar and pulling through the horizon, now pointing directly towards the moonscape earth and behind the Fokker, Coach’s gauntleted hand trembled and his helmeted ears echoed as his Vickers gun pumped numerous rounds into the German before it caught fire and continued its journey down through the center of the earth. In a matter of milliseconds after this transaction, while their Bristol Fighter was pointed straight down with a speed in excess of 150 miles per hour, a Fokker Dr.1 was flying straight up to meet them nose-to-nose. Through the dirty smoke of the billowing DVII, the triplane fired tracers that went over the top wing of their Brisfit, followed soon after by the Dr.1 itself, and once more Coach wrenched the Brisfit out of the dive to meet the attack. This move was balked yet again as another DVII came at them from above, fired its volley, and flew over the top wing in a matter of a second. Releasing his pull for a fraction of a moment to dodge the incoming fire, Coach hauled on the stick to resume the chase for the triplane, flexing every muscle in his body and craning his neck around to lock eyes on the enemy airman. He did, just in time to see the triplane rudder over into a magnificently sharp horizontal turn to get its nose onto their bus. Coach, while looking up and to the right at the ‘tripe’ against a veil of friendly and enemy aircraft in an unorganized frenzy, threw the stick and rudder harder over to the right to avoid the inevitable machine gun fire. Before either pilot knew it, Adair’s fire rang over Coaches head from the rear, over the Bristol’s top wing, and into the brownish-green fuselage of the triplane. The Dr.1’s pilot never reacted to the burst and the aircraft gently nosed over, never recovering from the action. The pilot had clearly been eliminated.

The sky was still a frenzy of twisting and diving and turning and climbing and banking and burning aircraft with no end or exit in sight for any of the titan players. Coach had a surplus of energy after chasing the DVII down through the vertical so back he pulled again on the stick to gain more altitude. A Brisfit was being chased directly upwards by a Fokker off to the left, German tracers impacting the wings of the Bristol as it zoomed up and past their own bus; a triplane’s wheels nearly swept off the top wing of their machine while its pilot was trying to escape the fire from a squadron mate; pouring out of the sky in a burning heap came another Brisfit, out of control, off to their lower right; two DVIIs, machine guns blazing, were latched onto the tail of a Sopwith Pup that had joined the fight below and to the left; it was almost too much for the senses to process. Eyes were fervently scanning the sky, the mind couldn’t complete a single thought before moving to the next, hands and muscles and lips vibrated and seized with adrenaline, shouts and screams were defiantly yelled into the void under the strain of the fight, engines surged and screamed and roared with assertiveness. While looking left to spot a strategic reentry into the fray, German bullets unexpectedly poured into their fuselage from the right. Shattered glass sprayed into Coaches lap from the instruments and windscreen being shot out of their mountings, a few bullets even wedging themselves into the floor of Adair’s section of the fuselage. Unhesitatingly, Coach yanked the stick back with all his might, shoved in a boot full of right rudder, and forced the aircraft into a snap roll to throw off the Hun’s aim. During the evasive maneuver, Adair was almost thrown to the floor but still managed to grip his guns and remain upright in the nacelle. Their heads were pulled down and almost into the instrument panel, goggles needed readjustment, sweat was pulled from the temples to the chins- It worked.

The aircraft spun horizontally like a top and no more machine gun fire was teething into their aircraft. Releasing the controls, Coach let the Brisfit’s nose fall through the horizon once again to recover airspeed. The fight wouldn’t let them off that easily, however. Above on their right side was another feral DVII looking to add a kill to its credit. Again, pulling hard back on the stick and rolling into the threat, Coach’s and Adair’s muscles strained against the force of five times the normal weight of gravity to swing their nose around into the threat, dodging multiple other machines in the process. Coach placed the German in his gunsight and squeezed off a burst of fire long enough to ignite the Hun’s aircraft and send it down at the head of a deep-black meteoric streak of flame. After following that aircraft down with his eyes, Coach looked to his left and right, through the bird cage of struts and wires, to determine the next best course of action. German and British airplanes alike were sweeping through the sky as if they were on predetermined rails, the sheen from elegant, glistening wings danced in the current of an eruptive atmosphere, streaks of fire from burning biplanes illuminated the entire scene like candles in a hallway of the Lord’s palace; it was truly a grand sight to behold. With more fight in them, Coach and Adair decided to stay in it until they were out of the two most important things required for their job: fuel and ammunition. Shoving the Bristol Fighter on its wingtip in a sweeping right-hand turn, Coach spotted a Fokker diving into an attacking posture from their forward left quarter position through the wires and struts of the two left wings. Doing nothing but removing the pressure from the right side of the rudder bar and applying maximum pressure on the left side of the rudder bar, the nose of the Brisfit sliced a parabolic arc across the sky from right to left, but there wasn’t enough time to meet the threat nose to nose. The DVII swept over the Brisfit, so close that the sound of its engine trumped the mighty Rolls-Royce in the Bristol, and entered a right bank as it flew over them.

With the aircraft now on its left wingtips Coach muscled the stick back into his lap and pulled as hard as he could, shoving his feet into the floor of the aircraft while screaming as loud as his lungs would allow to catch the Fokker before their noses met in space again. With muscles straining and jaws clenched, the nose of the Brisfit pulled along the horizon until the top profile of the enemy was seen through Coach’s gunsight and, with a viciousness never before seen, Coach sent a line of tracers directly into the cockpit of the DVII as it swept nearly into a firing position, effectively vaporizing the enemy pilot. Adair was still busy fighting his own battles standing in the aft cockpit, and while Coach was describing his parabola across the sky, Adair’s twin Lewis was spitting red-hot fire at another triplane that had joined the fight; Adair holding his guns steady on the enemy as if their Brisfit was standing still in midair despite the clouds, sky, ground, and other airplanes being unforgivingly tossed about his field of vision. The triplane’s Spandau machine guns spat just enough bullets to burn holes through the fabric of the tail section, but Adair’s guns proved more accurate. His burst disintegrated the enemy aircraft, ending its rain of fire and adding another victory to the team’s credit. From directly underneath their Brisfit and unseen by the pair, another Fokker pulled vertically upwards and fired a stream of bullets into their machine. More wood splintered and fabric ripped away as the windstream carried the shards of airplane into infinity. Adair was hard at work in the rear, firing his guns at any opportunity that presented itself. Coach reactively dumped the nose of the machine to swiftly change the geometry of the fight, but, apparently, out of ammunition, Adair’s fire ceased. Looking over his right shoulder while the forces of gravity attempted to toss him out of his wicker seat, Coach’s worst nightmare navigated its way from the subconscious into reality- There was Adair, braced against the Scarff ring in the rear nacelle, holding his left arm and attempting to stop the bleeding from German rounds that shattered his forearm. More bullets impacted their bus from the left while the machine continued pitching down. As Adair let out a horrific, painful screech, Coach felt a sting from the rear, as if a snake extended itself out of an Amazonian bush and latched into his middle back. His breathing and heart rate increased. He wasn’t sure why he could taste metal. Why was he dizzy now? That sound he heard again was more bullets impacting the machine from the right. Fabric stripped away from the wings, exposing the inner workings of their crate and the engine began to sound as if the oil was replaced with magnesium. Is this really how it was supposed to en-

January 26, 1918.

The morning of May 15, 1918 birthed a milestone in the progress of aviation not only in the United States, but across the world. For the first time ever, mail was being flown on a regularly scheduled route which began in Washington, D.C. and ended in New York with one stop in Pennsylvania. Although there were three different machines at the three different airfields, the pilot carrying the day’s first load of mail, to include one letter autographed by president Woodrow Wilson that was to be auctioned later, was U.S. Army pilot Lt. George Boyle and his ship was a Hispano-Suiza powered Curtiss Jenny. At the helm of this entire groundbreaking operation was Captain Benjamin Lipsner, the first superintendent of the aerial mail service for the United States post office. Although Lt. Boyle took off in the wrong direction that fateful day and ended up flying south instead of north towards Pennsylvania, Captain Lipsner’s dreams of a regularly scheduled aerial mail service came to life before the eyes of the entire world. With a vigorous passion for aeronautics and an equally impressive passion for leadership, Ben Lipsner led the post office’s famous air mail service to success and popularity and secured a concrete spot in American legend with his group of hand-selected pilots flying modified Curtiss Jennys and the specialized Standard JR-1B mail planes. Not only this, but Captain Lipsner’s new aerial mail service would end up paving the way for scheduled airline flying and commercial aviation as a whole with these roots still prominent in today’s flying world. In this book, Benjamin Lipsner discusses how his dreams of a scheduled aerial service came to fruition, his relationship with the Army and post office, the interactions and reactions with his pilots, their flying adventures, his resignation from the post office, and the state of affairs in commercial aviation at the time. Jennys to Jets serves as a wonderful source for the individual looking to research the history of mail flying, the airlines, and early aviation as a whole.

Flying the mail for the post office was not an idea new to officials in America. As early as the 1800s the idea of carrying mail had escaped the enterprising minds of aeronauts and for the first time mail was taken airborne in a balloon piloted by Richard Clayton on the 4th of July, 1835. Carrying the mail in a lighter-than-air craft was performed once again on August 17, 1859 when John Wise and John LaMountain took off in their balloon “Jupiter” from Lafayette, Indiana. These two flights on American soil gave the U.S. government the impetus they needed to allocate resources to this grand adventure and almost half a century after Jupiter’s ascent, in June of 1910, Representative Morris Sheppard introduced the first airmail bill to congress which authorized the Postmaster General to investigate the possibilities of flying the mail over a given route. As can be read in this book, it was about this time in history that Ben Lipsner found himself a new mechanical engineer, graduating from the Armour Institute in 1905 with a specific fascination with the intricacies of flying machines. Although Captain Lipsner worked as a driving instructor for the National Motor Vehicle Company, which incidentally lead him to teach pilot Ed Gardner how to drive the speedy race cars before he was hired as a pilot for the post office, his interests in flying machines never waned and he found himself taking more adventures to the local airfield until finally he developed a unique relationship with the airport staff that allowed him to assist in maintenance on the local flyers’ machines. It was this initial contact with the earliest flying machines and his experience at a multitude of engineering firms that led Lipsner to believe that one day, possibly, flying machines might be able to carry goods from one point to another. 

As he explains in the book, it was in Washington D.C. that Lipsner discovered his vision of using aircraft for commercial purposes could become reality. One of the firms Lipsner found employment with in the prewar years through his commissioning in the Army was the Texas Oil Company, with his talents being utilized to find a replacement for castor oil which was used ubiquitously in aircraft engines of the day. The solution was discovered with his fellow engineer Captain O.J. Day after the pair were invited to Washington to further research probable solutions. Being around aviation once again, the people in charge of it, Lipsner realized he needed to capitalize on this time and voice his idea soon if it were to become reality. To make the obsession worse, Lipsner also discovered that in 1916 $100,000 was appropriated by congress for experimentation in the way of carrying the mail by air and if not used by July 1, 1918, it would no longer be available. This seemed like the final piece of the puzzle with Captain Lipsner stating “[George] Connor, who later became a minister of the Gospel and for the past fifteen years has had a parsonage in a community near Washington, D.C., listened to some of the details I had in mind. When I finished, he said, “You mean you can actually develop a system showing the actual costs of operation?” When I assured him that I could, he thought about it a moment, then left his desk. He returned shortly. “There’s a man who’d like to hear some of your ideas,” he said. “Come this way.” We went back to an office marked “Second Assistant Postmaster General,” and I was introduced to Otto Praeger.” (Lipsner, The Airmail: Jennys to Jets p. 63) This meeting with Otto Praeger led to more constructive and persuasive discussions and so it was that the United States’ air mail service was beginning to find footing.

One aspect that I found to be particularly striking while reading this book was how much the author included the reader in his decision making processes, almost as if he let you read his personal diary at the time of certain happenings. Although the mail was flown by Army aviators during the first month of the new service’s existence, civilian air mail pilots were hand-picked and hired by Lipsner himself at a time that coincided with his resignation from the Army and subsequent full-time employment with the post office. As the new air mail service was already under intense scrutiny from almost every external party, Lipsner had lofty requirements for his pilot candidates to ensure no ammunition was given to the naysayers and, foremost, that the job of flying the mail was done safely and successfully. Captain Lipsner’s ability to place external stressors aside and address the situation in a straightforward manner was known throughout the small community of aerial mail employees, namely the pilots, which appears to be another reason why they enjoyed his company so much as a leader. This characteristic was clearly demonstrated when Lipsner was in the process of opening the New York to Chicago route and declared that Max Miller, the first civilian air mail pilot, and his good friend Ed Gardner would be the first individuals to fly the experimental route on September 5, 1918. The question of who would get there first was a point of contention for the two friends and when Gardner learned that Max would launch first, he made his frustrations apparent to his boss and friend. Lipsner diffused the situation by flipping a coin to determine who would go first after settling the two men down and, as if the coin was in on the ordeal, favored Max’s guess and once again it was decided that he would fly first. The two apologized for their insults and once again, Lipsner’s diplomacy saved the mission and possibly a friendship.

This was just one more example of Lipsner’s fine leadership as the first superintendent of the U.S. Post Office’s aerial mail service. From the first day of service on May 15, 1918 to Lipsner’s resignation just 111 days later on December 6, 1918, his pilots demonstrated supreme faith in their leader and his ability to make decisions for the betterment of the service and their lives as pilots. There were many examples of this confidence being displayed in the book such as when Lipsner believed in and convinced Eddie Gardner to fly the mail back from Chicago to New York in one day, a grand feat which he actually accomplished. But no greater proof of this exists, in my opinion, than the day after Lipsner’s resignation when pilot Max Miller faithfully turned in his resignation as well, citing reasons parallel with Lipsner’s. Miller’s resignation letter speaks for all the air mail pilots when he states “…I am frank to state that I do not feel confident in the outcome of a plan different from one which is now being successfully operated; and knowing full well Captain Lipsner’s capabilities of directing the Aerial Mail Service to a successful conclusion to date, therefore it is obvious that I use my best judgement and take the stand of handing herewith my resignation.” Soon after this series of unfortunate events, air mail pilots went on the first pilot strike in history and refused to fly the mail under their new leadership following the Captain’s departure. Lipsner’s fine leadership abilities again showed themselves as he responded to the strikers: “…I immediately called the boys together and told them that such a move would do more harm than good, and that I still believed in the service, though I disagreed with the methods used in running it. These arguments didn’t settle their tempers very much, and it was only when I pointed out that if they continued the strike, I could be cited for preventing the delivery of mail, that they went back to work.” (Lipsner, The Airmail: Jennys to Jets p. 186) The pilot’s faith in the abilities of the first superintendent of the aerial mail service was more obvious than ever with that collective decision to strike without him as their leader and their willingness to place their jobs on the line to support his decision. This single moment speaks volumes about the man as a leader, officer, businessman, and person. More evidence for this can be found on almost every page of this fantastic read.

In the later chapters of The Airmail: Jennys to Jets, Lipsner address the future of commercial aviation and what his creation had adapted itself into at the time of the book’s publication. Being the man who can claim he kindled the everlasting flame of commercial aviation itself, Lipsner provides the reader with insight into what he thought future generations could expect out of mail and passenger carrying aircraft. One might forget how incredible it is that just 30 years after Lt. Boyle carried the mail in his Curtiss Jenny, a trip that took three hours and twenty minutes, a United States Air Force pilot flew the same route in a supersonic Republic F-84 fighter jet… in just twenty-seven minutes. Yes, one might forget that, but Benjamin Lipsner will quickly remind you of the innumerable impressive feats of mail-carrying pilots. With the onset of jet-propelled aircraft taking over the skies then mostly dominated by Lockheed Constellations, Boeing 337s, and Douglas DC-6s, the man who created commercial aviation still emphasized how critical it was that the American public made a push to conquer the skies over the 50 states and, for that matter, the world. It is impossible to express in words the progress made from 1918 to 1951 in regard to commercial flying, but Lipsner still pushed for his creation to strive for perfection, saying “Now is the proper time to exploit the uses of this air ocean, to gain from it all the things it has to offer. Airliners sailing in this vast ocean offer tremendous advantages over their surface competitors, yet we are slow to accept these advantages. We remain content with obsolete forms of transportation when with very little effort we can reap the harvest of good things which air transportation offers.” (Lipsner, The Airmail: Jennys to Jets p. 271) Commercial aviation was seemingly at its peak; a fine, classy experience where people flew in dress clothing and dined on properly cooked meals while cruising at an altitude almost five miles into the troposphere. Yet Lipsner was not satisfied, and in his charismatic way pushed individuals and companies alike to accomplish even greater things in a world still recovering from war and terror.

Captain Benjamin Lipsner, in the writing of this book, does a fantastic job of explaining his thought processes while trying to turn his dream of commercial flying into reality. His emotions during the entirety of his tenure were made very apparent in the style of his writing and I found it quite easy to connect on an emotional level while reading. Benjamin Lipsner offered a very inviting look into his reality of initiating the future of commercial aviation on a worldwide scale and provided background on numerous historical events in aviation with a great deal of detail. Interactions with air mail pilots, top Army and post office office officials, airline operators of the 20s and 30s, and a multitude of discussions on the future of commercial flying are all included in this propitious historical text. It is my opinion as an aviation enthusiast and historian that The Airmail: Jennies to Jets deserves a spot on the bookshelf of all individuals interested in aviation history and serves as a reliable, and enjoyable, source for telling the story of one of the most fascinating industries to exist today. My library has only benefitted from this book belonging to it and I believe yours will to.

Sources: Benjamin Lipsner. The Airmail: Jennies to Jets. Wilcox & Follett Company, 1951.

My ideal barnstormer is a man who knows his machine like he knows the fingers on his hands. He can sense when it is happy, excited, dejected, or angry and knows how to interpret every rattle and shimmy in the stick and rudder pedals and has an extraordinarily tuned ear to the hum of its heartbeat in the engine. He thinks of his machine as a person, as an extension of himself. His hands and feet needn’t even rest on the controls for his mind does all the work. Where he thinks of taking his airplane, his airplane takes him because that is their relationship. Upon landing after a particularly stressful experience, he gives his airplane a tender pat on the back and a thank you because they are deeply rooted friends and care for one another greatly. In the evening, when the stars have completed their voyage across the night sky and a warm, invitingly orange sun crests the treeline, he embraces his airplane with a gentle touch and a soft good morning to wake it up for another day of amiable adventure. In turn his airplane thanks him for the level of care it receives, and carries him faithfully from field to field and responds dutifully to his suggestions. 

My ideal barnstormer is a man of the people. He could carry a conversation with a door then bend over and sell a ride to the doorknob. No matter where he is at any given time he is welcomed as a friend and with smiles, and he returns the sentiment. He gracefully assists his trusting passengers into the front cockpit as the engine idly ticks over and does it with a grin. Behind that helping hand is an airman dressed in the ideal manner: worn in lace-up riding boots with a hardly noticeable trace of brown polish but scuffed from climbing about the airplane, riding breeches that aren’t too wide and not too stiff, tucked in collared shirt that has been slept in and is complete with a knotted tie, a leather flying jacket that is just beginning to crack at the wrists and on the back from the elements, and lack of conditioner, leather gloves that fit like skin over his hands, a bare leather flying helmet that is wrinkled from yearly use, and triplex flying goggles from a bygone war. This he considers his uniform and thus takes pride in the few wrinkles, splotches of oil, and occasional dirt stains which symbolize his experience and are presented as his medals. Together, with his pal the airplane, he aims to please and to put smiles on faces and create memories that will last for eternity. At the end of the day, when his bill has been paid at the local cafe and he settles back down next to his machine, he knows he has done something for the average person that has left a lasting impression on them. 

My ideal barnstormer knows there is no individual more confident in their flying abilities than him. He knows he could fly his old bus out of a tennis court and land it in the parking lot. There is no one that can outfly him because he is one with his airplane and the others are not. They are simply operators and he does not identify with them. He is not boastful but knows how to successfully push his limits. He studies his runways and thinks through every possible scenario before each takeoff and landing. He can slip his machine to an inch above the ground and still track straight before touching down on the smallest of runways. He doesn’t need any gauges to show angle of attack or engine revolutions or airspeed or turn coordination; he feels it in the stick and rudder pedals and on the sides of his head and heard through the strain of the engine and the wind in the wires. He recognizes immediately when his friend, his airplane, tells him the direction of the wind and whether or not his friend is comfortable with the conditions. Together they decide what they like and what they don’t like and what is needed from each other to accomplish the task at hand.

My ideal barnstormer is comfortable on the land. He sleeps under the wing of his tired old bus next to the warmth of a campfire and wakes up to the morning dew dripping down onto the grass. If there is a stream or lake nearby he unlaces his boots, hangs his clothes, and enjoys the cold, fresh water engulfing his body on a summer day. He might put some in a pot, boil it for sterilization, and drink it if it is not immediately determined drinkable. If in between towns, he heats his food over that campfire and enjoys it because it is simple and crude and somewhat filling. In town, however, he will most definitely indulge in burgers and milkshakes and hotdogs and classic food for the American man in the local diner. Back with his airplane, his friend, as a foredrop he leans against a tree listening to the simple tune of  a breeze and journals and reads and thinks at his own leisure. He has no schedule apart from nature’s own- if his stay in that location has lapsed, indicated by the buildup of cumulonimbus or jailing stratus, then he will simply pack up his things into his airplane and depart for nowhere in particular. 

My ideal barnstormer knows how to enjoy each flight. He happily embraces the wind against his face as it slips by the windscreen. He sticks his arm out of the cockpit and allows the slipstream to play with his arm like he allows his arm to play in the slipstream. The different colors soaking the earth appeal to his sensitive eyes; green fields that ebb and flow in color and shape as if they were as fluid as the ocean. Different shades of brown streaking off thick trees that are growing dense forests of vivid green leaves, each leaf a different color than the last. Light tints of gray and black on the ground as a shadow casts its cool shade on a hidden piece of golden earth. The characteristics of the dome of sky through which he is flying does not escape his thoughtful gaze; streaks of silvery white cirrus clouds up high, tinted by light shadows and faint rainbows as some sunlight pierces their crystallized vapor. Rolling, swollen white cumulus clouds outlined with yellow sunshine against an infinitely deep blue backdrop gently hovering in the air as if they were all just pedestrians on a street, waiting to say hello to each other. As he transitions his view to inside the cockpit his eyes gently sway from the clouds, trees, hayfields, and barns to the bouncing fabric ensconcing the fascinating inner workings of his wings. The taught flying wires hardly move in the blast of wind but the fabric jubilantly dances and drums along to the air whipping by at nearly one hundred miles per hour, as if to convey how much fun it is having out there. Finally his eyes do reach the cockpit, that cave of intriguing shapes and knobs behind a stoic glass windscreen, and he drags them along his boots resting on the rudder pedals, split by the stick which is gripped by his gloved right hand and slightly trembling from the vibration of a roaring engine, or perhaps a beating heart, to his gloved left hand resting on the throttle, up to the numerous dials that garland the varnished wooden instrument panel. He scans along this board of circles and interprets their bouncing needles to the din of over two thousand revolutions per minute, closes his eyes under their triplex goggles, and captures the moment like a camera captures a photo. Every detail. He cannot wait to record it all in his journal when he lands. And when he does land in that hay field and rolls out his sleeping bag and looks out into a crystal clear starry night before drifting off, he smiles.  

My ideal barnstormer is who I inspire to be.

_{*Not my photo. Credit goes to the original photographer.}

One of the books on my shelf that I was most excited to read, The Air Devils delivered on all fronts regarding stunt aviation’s origins and I was left almost unwilling to close the pages upon finishing the book. Covering topics that range from the rise of flying lighter-than-air craft at a time when American independence was just gained to diamond formations of gleaming F-86s dancing over European skies, this book is a must-have for any aviation historian or enthusiast, professional or otherwise. The Air Devils serves as a key reference for the widely known and some unfortunately unknown names in the barnstorming, stunt flying, movie flying, and ballooning arenas; all of which are immeasurably important to the history of powered flight. It is our job as pilots to learn, understand, and remember this history to not only show appreciation for their sacrifices and roles in our lives but to spread their almost mystical wisdom into the flying world of today. This book will undeniably help whoever reads it achieve these goals.

As an enthusiast of early aviation, I had many takeaways from this book with the first being a reminder of just how costly it could have been to climb into a machine of the air and take it aloft into another dimension still mostly unfamiliar to the terrestrial man. The relative safety of aviating is something taken for granted these days but in the early years of pioneering, every flight could mean tragedy. Almost every aviator is familiar with the madness of those unforgiving years of trial and error but Don Dwiggins does an excellent job of highlighting this fact with detailed stories that drag the reader to the edge of their seat. A premium example of this is the story of Lincoln Beachey’s final flight in an experimental monoplane he built himself. After the complete story of this birdman’s career, Dwiggins describes his final moments: “He sucked the stick back harder and harder, watching the world rush up to strike him dead. The Beachey Special shuddered, and something broke. Linc looked left; the wing had torn away…. The crowd rushed forward, across the grass field, to the water’s edge, and there it stopped. The waves had subsided: beneath them, the worlds’s greatest stunt flyer was dead, trapped in the tangled wreckage…” (Dwiggins, The Air Devils, p.102). In the blink of an eye, the world lost one of it’s leading aviators due to structural failure. This story is only one of the many shocking accounts included in this book that shows how incredibly dangerous the evolving years of heavier-than-air flying were.

Another lesson that is quite discernible in this book which is synonymous with my previous point is just how much these airmen were willing to sacrifice, or lay on the line if you will, to sharpen their flying skills as fine as obsidian and for the betterment of aviation as a whole. One must remember that for so long, aviation was a widely unregulated business and lots of unnecessary tragedies were the result of this fault. Throughout this book you will read the most unbelievable stories of aviating that ever took place to include flying Curtiss Jennys off city rooftops, climbing onto fabric wings while blindfolded and thousands of feet in the air (only to climb onto another airplane while still blindfolded…), landing biplanes on moving trains, taking off from tennis courts while flying across a continent, and so many others that I frustratingly cannot fit in this article. One cannot help but to read these incredible adventures and compare them to what we view as extreme and how general aviation airplanes are used today. These men and women flew their aircraft from the top of the airspeed indicator, which probably didn’t even work, to the last decimal of their critical angle of attack and did it all as one with their machine. These courageous pilots gave us footsteps to follow in this regard and due to their commitment to flying, the aviation safety standards have multiplied exponentially since those horrifically deadly years. Although this is true I could not help but to read about these magnificent individuals and think of the artificial drama that is created in airplanes today for phone cameras and social media views, however that is a topic for another day.

As I hinted to earlier, there is no shortage of heroic stories from names such as Frank Clarke, Paul Mantz, Mort Bach, Doug Davis, Mabel Cody, Frank Tallman, and so many other aviators and flying circuses. My final takeaway, that I shall mention here, is how Dwiggins emphasizes the fearlessness of these individuals when in the cockpit of their flying machines. Balloonatics are not to be left out of this most honorable list, and the author includes a multitude of jaw-dropping, heart-pounding stories about these now mostly unknown figures. One such story recounts how in 1862, Henry Tracey Coxwell and James Glashier ascended in their gas bag from Wolverhampton, England on a purely scientific mission to probe the stratosphere. Without giving too much of the book away, the men fought for their lives nearly eight miles high while battling freezing temperatures and punishing fits of hypoxia. Pulling themselves out of unconsciousness and solving emergency after emergency with their craft, the two men struggled to return to that earth where man had struggled to join those clouds in the sky for so long. In a miraculous turn of events, they eventually did land with an astonishing feat under their belt-reaching an altitude of 39,000 feet! Not only should these names and their associated fearlessness go down in the books of history forever, they shall be remembered by all in the advancement of aeronautical science and serve as an example of dedication and dauntlessness to aviators everywhere.

To conclude this article, I must say I have nothing but stellar things to say about Don Dwiggins’ The Air Devils. This book is one that I cannot recommend enough for both the professional and the amateur. Its message, and why I think it belongs in any early aviation enthusiasts library, is that it serves as a key reference for both popular and unknown names in the early years of flying and brings to light their contributions to aviation which may go unnoticed otherwise. Not only this, but this book may remind today’s flyers that they should take time to remember their roots and push themselves to be the best pilot they can be, in good conscience, and enjoy flying for the sake of flying. Knowing the history of those pioneering years opens ones eyes to the sacrifices our forefathers made, how dangerous it was to fly, and how they regularly sharpened their skill and prowess in the air despite the danger.

Sources: Don Dwiggins. The Air Devils. J. B. Lippincott Company, 1966.

With no ILS needles to guide them to the ground through clouds, an engine and airframe crippled by enemy fire, and suffering from the effects of low temperatures at high altitudes, many of today’s pilots could learn numerous lessons from these steel men piloting wooden machines during the Great War and the years following. Wing Commander Crundall’s memoirs of flying for the Royal Naval Air Service and Royal Air Force from 1916 to 1919 serves as an excellent reminder of the grim realities these brave airmen faced on a daily basis. With a writing frequency akin to a journal, the author records events happening at the squadron, getting into mischief with his pals, details of his deadly missions, life while on leave, and the breakneck speeds of aerial scraps between friend and foe at ten thousand feet above terra firma. It is my opinion that this book will surely benefit the reader who purchases it, whether the aviation oriented or history enthused, and the shelf on which it is displayed due to its gripping contents and eye-catching cover art.

Although authored rather unimaginatively, this book is saturated with hardly believable stories about fighting German airmen over the western front and bringing severely crippled Sopwith machines back over the lines to friendly territory. One thing I noticed was how similarly the book was written compared to I Chose the Sky in that it is very matter of fact- The author describes the aforementioned scenes with little extra detail or emotion, just as “Tich” Rochford did in his famous memoirs. There are still numerous interesting takeaways from this book for any who read it and I am exceedingly glad to have it on my shelf for these reasons. One of these takeaways is the interesting fact that the author flew and wrote much about flying the famous Sopwith Triplane with 8 Naval, the squadron popular for its “black flight” led by twelve-time ace Raymond Collishaw. Although the book is mainly centered around details of his days and less about the qualities of the machines he flew, he briefly describes the triplane’s flying characteristics, its performance in aerial fights, and how only one gun limited their capabilities in fights compared to the German machines they were competing against. In much the same manner the author writes about the squadron’s transition to the Sopwith Camel and little is described about its infamous handling qualities with more attention being focused on the squadron’s daily activities and missions. A perfect example of his writing style being: “There are rumors that the squadron is to exchange its Sopwith Triplanes for Sopwith Camels. Sopwith Camels are biplanes. They, like Triplanes, are fitted with 130 hp Clerget rotary engines but Camels have two Vickers machines guns firing through the propeller as against the one in Triplanes.” (Wing Commander E.D. Crundall. Fighter Pilot on the Western Front, 1975.)

Between spells at the front, Crundall served as a flying instructor in England and unfortunately hardly anything is written about the actual instruction of students but rather many pages of his taking machines on cross country trips to visit friends and family. I did not find this portion of the book to be uninteresting however, as the author included many stories regarding engine failures and deadstick landings into minute fields in this section of the book. This of course only reinforced my belief that many pilots of today lack the airmanship and composure to handle similar emergencies, at least without making a production out of their ordeal for everyone to see. Apart from the incessant battle flying done in such iconic machines, another fascinating aspect to this book is the inclusion of flying over France and Germany after the war’s end. I have found it rather rare to gather extensive literature on this period of time from a pilot’s perspective and Wing Commander Crundall more than delivered on this topic, providing the reader with much insight into the actions of a fighter squadron months after the armistice. A truly spectacular example of this is how the author quite literally OWNED a Fokker DVII that was dormant in a hangar taken over by the squadron following November 11, 1918. The German fighter was fixed and flown by Crundall for pleasure and to different aerodromes as the occupation was advancing which is a remarkable fact itself. Details of this peculiar happening are described in the author’s later chapters as well, albeit quite concise.

This book, although written in a very matter of fact manner, provides the reader with a tremendous insight into the daily actions and operations of a fighting squadron stationed on the western front during the second half of the First World War to the beginning of 1919. Wing Commander Crundall recalls everything between fighting Germans over the trenches, life with fellow fighter pilots in an active squadron while on the ground, flying aeroplanes popularized in today’s aviation world such as the Triplane and Camel, landing aeroplanes after suffering tremendous bodily injury, landing aeroplanes that are in mechanical shambles in fields that can hardly be labelled as tennis courts, and even flying battle planes during the months following the armistice. Notwithstanding the book’s lack of emotional depth, it is my opinion that it will only benefit the reader who adds it to their shelf, whether they are the professional historian or amateur aviation enthusiast. Fighter Pilot on the Western Front is an aviation classic that should be read by anyone looking to further their understanding of or passion for the First World War aviator stationed on the western front during that momentous conflict.

Sources:

Wing Commander E.D. Crundall. Fighter Pilot on the Western Front, 1975.

Another book that has remained unread on my shelf for far too long is this fabulous piece of literature, Double-Decker C.666 by Georg Wilhelm Haupt-Heydemarck. As much attention and focus is paid to the allied participation in the air war over Europe during 1914-1918, it is a welcome change of pace to read a realistic memoir from the other side of the lines. Haupt-Heydemarck’s other works include Flying Section 17 and War Flying in Macedonia, the latter being not yet in the collection (yet!) but the former having already been read by myself. Having read both of these books by the imaginative German observer, I can tell you with unquestionable certainty that I believe he is a masterful storyteller and linguistic genius and I am sure you will come to the same conclusion after reading his works. As pilots, we can learn numerous lessons from these aviators on how to conduct ourselves in the cockpit, handle emergencies with reasonable temper, and appreciate the finer things that make aviation what it is. Wires howling in the wind, the vibration of the oily cylinders felt through the stick and rudder pedals, reflection of the sun seen in the vibrating fabric, and the slipstream playing at your leather helmet.

The author being an aerial observer in the first half of the First World War, he tells wonderful stories of flying against the French with his beloved pilot, “Take” Engmann, over the western front. There is no shortage (207 pages to be exact!) of gripping tales in this page turner, with palm-perspiring dogfights against French Nieuports, battling temperatures that reached below thirty degrees, bombing enemy positions in the early morning hours, and settling nerves during unrelenting “archie” barrages at altitudes surpassing ten thousand feet. All of these situations and more are written in unique detail that place the reader directly in the cockpit with the author, with hands seemingly on the author’s machine gun or his aerial camera to snap the ever important photographs of the ground behind enemy lines. As noted earlier, Georg Wilhelm Haupt-Heydemarck has a special talent for authoring books in this manner which can be noticed in his other book on flying over the western front, Flying Section 17. A prime example of this detail can be examined as he explains the operation of his camera over a French target: “I scan the aerodrome again through my glasses and discover that there are six hangars. Formerly there were only four; that means reinforcements. Quickly I extract the camera from its rack. Everything is ready-withdraw the shutter from its plate-grip the handle with the left hand-finger of right hand on the release-press camera firmly against my chest-focus objective-click!-photo taken-change plates-rewind focal plane-put camera back-job done.” (Haupt Heydemarck. Double-Decker C.666. John Hamilton Ltd., n.d.) This level of description is not spared on each page and in more than a few cases there are photographs included to show exactly what he is talking about in that moment.

This book has much to offer to both the academic and the passionate enthusiast due to its remarkably precise detail regarding all aspects of their missions from before takeoff to after landing. Things such as the mission brief, debrief, weather, squadron atmosphere, flying clothing and more are all mentioned in this gripping memoir. It was very neat and rather rare to read about the relationship between the pilot and observer in the cockpit of a German two-seater as well, an interesting note being the pilot is typically in the ranks instead of the observer like in the Royal Flying Corps/Royal Air Force. Heydemarck demonstrates this relationship in every chapter of the book as he brings the reader along each mission with the resulting effect on the reader being an inability to put down the book or not turn the page. Even down to the human characteristics of how his pilot celebrates a successful bomb drop or escape from enemy aeroplanes is put into words.

There is no doubt that this piece of First World War aviation literature would make a fantastic addition to the library of the war historian or pilot of any kind and I give it the highest praise. It has seemingly endless exciting stories that would appeal to anyone who picked it up and no shortage of lovely details for the reader to enjoy. Not only can the academic use it for an accurate source for their own research, but the pilot readers can gain a vast appreciation for the aviators’ shoulders on which we modern pilots stand and perhaps carry that legacy into the cockpit today.

I just recently finished “I Chose the Sky” by Leonard “Tich” Rochford, an account of his time in the Royal Naval Air Service and Royal Air Force during The Great War. I was very much looking forward to this piece as there aren’t many RNAS pilot memoirs in existence, at least compared to Royal Flying Corps pieces, and it didn’t disappoint. At 224 pages, this book serves as a very good resource for gaining insight into the Royal Naval Air Service’s contribution to The Great War and gives the reader an understanding of the life in a fighter squadron at the front lines. From the beginning of the book to the end, Tich writes each page as if he was talking to a friend which made the book even more enjoyable to read. He begins the book with his early childhood and how his interest in aviation developed, so when the war began he “chose the sky” instead of the infamously unglamorous war on the surface. His tales of flight school in 1916 followed with detail on how the entire course for pupils was organized and stories of his flying adventures while not at a fighter squadron. Soon that dream came true, and he was posted to 3 Naval Squadron in 1917 which was then attached to the Army for fighting duties alongside the Royal Flying Corps.

Here begins his life as a combat pilot in the First World War. As briefly mentioned earlier, Rochford’s writing style is that of a friendly correspondence and I would further describe the rest of the chapters as a sort of ‘tour of the logbook’. He writes of his fights but in a way that is not as creatively descriptive one might find in other memoirs. His scraps and stories are written in a very matter-of-fact way, without the imaginative detail that one might find in other memoirs written of the air war. An example of this being “In the afternoon of 1st October Hayne and myself accompanied Beamish on the Fleet Protective Patrol. Beamish developed engine trouble and returned to Bray Dunes but Hayne and myself carried on the patrol. When over the sea off Nieuport we saw a two-seater DFW flying at 7,000 feet about three miles off the coast. We attacked and drove him down to 1,500 feet over Westende but unfortunately we both had gun jams and he was able to continue diving away from us inland. The observer was probably killed or wounded as he had suddenly ceased firing at us during the chase. For the next ten days we had very bad weather and flying was impossible, but during the morning of the 11th we escorted DH4’s to bomb Bruges Docks. We flew at 17,000 feet and the cold was intense.” (Leonard “Tich” Rochford. I Chose the Sky. William Kimber & Co., 1977. p.114) Almost the entire book is written in this manner, but I found it quite enjoyable because I felt like I was reading his own logbook as I toured through the pages; one can tell he had his logbook in front of him during the writing process. Besides the wonderful flying stories and tour of his logbook, Rochford includes the reader in each move of the squadron to different aerodromes and tells fun stories of the officer’s time in the mess with his fellow pilots. As the war became mobile and the Army required squadrons to constantly move aerodromes, the RFC and RNAS amalgamated to become the Royal Air Force, which Rochford briefly covers in this book. Continuing a theme I’ve seen in multiple books written by First World War aviators, this combining of forces is only hardly mentioned because war flying was war flying to them; in the morning they still had to fly combat missions! Rochford’s book is no different, and not much is discussed regarding the formation of the RAF on April 1st 1918.

There is no doubt that this book would make a wonderful addition to the First World War or aviation enthusiast’s library as it contains lots of wonderful material for each reader. With an overwhelming majority of the WWI aviation memoirs being from pilots of the Royal Flying Corps, it is a neat touch to read about the Royal Naval Air Service’s war from 1917 to 1918. I believe and hope that you will hold the same opinion if you decide to read this fantastic piece of Great War literature.

Just a few days ago I finished the biography of a (unfortunately) relatively unknown aviation legend named E.M. “Matty” Laird. Authored by his daughter, Joan Laird Post, the book explores areas mostly unknown in Matty’s life such as insight into how he named his famous airplanes and the context for his business adventures. Joan Laird Post did a fabulous job covering all aspects of Matty’s illustrious life and career and I found myself feeling as if I knew Matty personally as the story read on, even becoming a bit emotional when I closed the book after finishing the last page. Matty Laird’s legacy lives on through the numerous modern aircraft manufacturers of today and through a few replica aircraft of his construction on display at certain museums, namely the rare Baby Biplane at the Sun N’ Fun museum in Lakeland, Florida. 

Not much is found on this book regarding a synopsis of sorts, apart from basic seller descriptions and purchase reviews that are no more than a few sentences.  Given this lack of detail, I didn’t quite know what to expect when the book arrived in the mail and I cracked open the cover for the first time and began reading. I was immediately and pleasantly surprised at how enjoyable it was to read and knew it was going to be a staple piece in the Early Days Biplanes library. Joan Laird Post did a wonderful job explaining Matty Laird’s significance to aviation to both a layman who knows not much about airplanes and the expert aviation historian. 

After a beautiful preface by the author and a foreword by EAA founder Paul Poberezny, the book begins with a lovely two-paged chapter titled “One Final Dream” about Joan Laird Post’s participation in the unveiling of the Laird Baby Biplane at the Sun N’ Fun museum in Lakeland, Florida. This chapter lays a foundation for the reader to build upon while reading the rest of the book due to the author’s wonderful job explaining the importance of the Baby Biplane, the event itself, and how emotional it was for everyone involved. The story of Matty’s life then begins, starting with his youth experiences in Chicago and how his interest in aviation developed after watching a Wright Flyer fly outside the bank where he worked. An interesting fact I didn’t know about Matty Laird is that his education never surpassed the 8th grade level! His career as a pilot and aircraft designer was already remarkable but that is quite the feat itself. 

With the perfect amount of detail over twenty expertly written chapters, the story of the rest of his life is written and offers excellent insight into his barnstorming days, the relationships he developed along the way (with names such as Buck Weaver, Speed Holman, Katherine Stinson, Eddie Stinson, Majorie Stinson, Jimmy Doolittle, Billy Burke, Clyde Cessna, Walter Beech, Lloyd Stearman), the designing of his famous ships, the onset of air mail, his hesitation with participating in air racing, the business adventures and traveling as his designs became more popular amongst pilots, and even how his machines formed the foundation of American commercial aviation. As can be read in this book, the Laird Swallow was a three-place biplane that was generally regarded as the aircraft that built America’s commercial aviation industry, but ask any given airline pilot if they knew that fact and the overwhelming majority would sadly admit to ignorance.

It is my opinion that this book will not only correct that issue if in the library of just a few airline pilots, but should be in the library of every person that is passionate about aviation and its history. The story of the shy, motivated, keen Matty Laird and his contribution to aviation raises the question of where American aviation would be today if it weren’t for his extensive efforts to design elegant and purposeful flying machines for the country. Behind some of the most famous aircraft and airlines of today is a man of significance mostly unknown by the flying public today, but should be remembered by all who venture in the blue infinity for either recreation or travel. Joan Post Laird does a fabulous and engaging job telling the story of her father and ensuring all who choose to read Shoestrings to the Stars understand the importance of her father’s existence. I cannot recommend this piece of literature enough and will suggest that it makes a home in the library of anyone even slightly interested in aviation history or considering reading this piece.

More books have arrived at the Early Days Biplanes headquarters! Somewhat surprisingly, Half Price Books is where a lot of our books find themselves before being stashed on the shelves of our ever-growing library. The recent haul included the Spirit of St Louis Workshop Manual and The American Heritage History of Flight, two pieces that I believe will serve well for our research. The Spirit of St Louis Workshop Manual resumes the theme of a book I read before my current book titled Oceans, Poles, and Airmen, a book about the daring men of the exploration days of aviation such as Lindbergh himself, Italian General Umberto Nobile during his dirigible flights to the north pole, his brave crew on the Norge and Italia expeditions, the shenanigans of Charles Levine, the bravery of Clearance Chamberlain and the numerous other aviators to attempt and achieve the Atlantic crossing by air, and the questionable acts of the famous Richard Byrd among numerous other flying events including the Dole Aerial Derby.

In my opinion, Byrd’s actions from his North Pole trip onwards were indeed controversial due to the suspicious nature in which he defended the journeys and acted throughout each, even causing internal strife amongst the crew of his first Antarctic expedition. When Bernt Balchen, a member of that first Antarctic expedition, was still figuring the mathematics of Byrd’s northern pole flight with Floyd Bennett, Byrd responded by saying “God damn you, who asked you to go into that? You’re not going to do anything of the kind! Just cut that out. It’s none of your damned business. Lay off the whole thing or you’re going to find yourself in trouble.” [Montague 1971, p.257] From the aviation layman’s viewpoint, that quote along with many others from that Antarctic trip are very puzzling and raise numerous questions as to Byrd’s trustworthiness and reliability as an explorer.

There is no question as to the bravery of these aviation pioneers, although it’s interesting to note the mild theatrics that ensued behind the media curtain of most of these golden aged flying events. Montague does an outstanding job of describing these as he was a media reporter at the time of these events and, in many cases, was present at their outset. These quotes along with many others were fundamental in constructing a further understanding of the multitude of early aviation adventures and I believe they will have the same impression on you. I cannot suggest Oceans, Poles, and Airmen enough as an addition to your library and wealth of aviation history knowledge. I am sure I will have the same opinion of my newest additions as I believe they will contribute nicely to my research of aviation’s beginnings.

BOOKS MENTIONED:

-Oceans, Poles, and Airmen

-Spirit of St Louis Workshop Manual

-The American Heritage History of Flight