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his month, the world of aviation observes the 50th anniversary of the justly-famed project. And, just as many non-buffs will ■kely remember only one of the original four a'rcraft that were scheduled to participate in /'e Navy’s transatlantic flight from New- °undland to Lisbon, Portugal, in 1919, so, l°°j will present-day accounts of the flight 'ary somewhat as to the extent and accuracy ()f details of an event that occurred a halfCentury ago.
This inherent potential for error became quickly evident to me when, two years ago, I Jegan preliminary research to obtain the ^Pecific information necessary for the execu- on of a series of paintings planned as a part £ the Navy’s observation of the flight of NC eaplane Division One. And, as is perhaps not t|nusual in such efforts, the investigation . lelded several fringe benefits in the form of ’oteresting and little-noted facets of the NC °ject. Some of these historical footnotes relate directly to both the conception of the cover painting of this month’s Proceedings, and to the subject of the pictorial, which also appears in this issue.
There was, for example, the curious matter of the lack of comment—certainly there was no concrete evidence—relating to the original color scheme of the NC aircraft. Lack of such descriptive material has long been a frustration to aviation historians, and was particularly baffling to an artist intent on the accurate depiction of the subject. The original NC-4 components had been placed in storage after the flying boat had been overhauled several times, and therefore, the plane itself could not be considered the most reliable source. The planning documents and official specifications did not mention color, and interviews held with crew members and associated personnel 30 to 40 years after the famous flight resulted in conflicting testimony.
Rear Admiral A. C. Read, who commanded the NC-4, recalled that it was a grey seaplane with a varnished hull. Lieutenant Walter Hinton, one of the pilots, said the hull was blue-grey and the wings were varnished fabric. Vice Admiral P. N. L. Bellinger, commander of the NC-1, stated that all Navy planes of the time had yellow wing-tips. Chief E. S. Rhoads, an engineer in the NC-4, said the boat was grey; the wings and tail varnish over dope; and the struts and booms natural finish wood, varnished. The New York Times reported the NC-l as being entirely grey, while the NC-3 and NC-4 had cream color wings. No mention was made anywhere about the color of the engine nacelles. All the photographs of the period were, of course, shot in black and white on different types of film under varying lighting conditions.
Understandably, for an illustrator who proposes to undertake an historical piece, a logical first step would be to check on any previously executed paintings on the subject. The procedure in this instance was no different. It turned out that the Navy had assigned two artists to portray the flight of the NCs in 1919, Lieutenant Commander Henry Reuter- dahl and Lieutenant Charles E. Ruttan. Between the two of them, they produced about 15 drawings and paintings that were published. Reuterdahl was well known in his day,
Pluck and determination—hallmarks of the NC flight—were typified by Chief Special Mechanic E. Harry Howard, who lost a hand to one of the NC-4 propellers, but returned from the hospital within an hour (right) requesting to be retained in the crew. Another little known facet of the flight is noted in the assignment of two distinguished naval artists to portray the effort. One artist, Lieutenant Commander Henry Reuterdahl, U. S. Navy, is shown (far right) in the 1919 version of an artist’s working dress uniform.
applying his flamboyant style largely to surface operations of the Navy during World War I. But Ruttan was a naval aviator (#64), one who also had facility with a brush, fortunately. In March 1918, his designator as an aviator was revoked for deficient eyesight. Shortly afterwards, he found himself in France painting seaplanes and aerial actions. ;His depictions of aviation activity in World War I were widely printed, and in March of 1919, he was detailed to the NC project where his eye for accuracy of line and detail would later prove very valuable.
Coincidentally, a year ago, even as I was probing for answers to the question of the aircraft color scheme, the same problem had confronted the technicians of the National Air and Space Museum of the Smithsonian Institution, during their restoration of the NC-4. Wing and tail panels had all been recovered and were awaiting finish—but in what color? Examination of old photos was leading to inconclusive opinions, and it was only after weeks of sleuthing and experimentation that a final determination was forthcoming. But, except for the paintings I had found, by Reuterdahl and Ruttan, we would all still be scratching our heads over the vagaries of descriptions in articles containing such references as the “yellow wings and tail, glowing like burnished gold in the sun.” Even now, after all the confusion, and in the absence of a good, solid, no-nonsense, Navy- issue paint-designator, it seems easier, if a bit unprofessional, to think of the aircraft surfaces as having the color of good Canadian whiskey.
Having the actual airplane, even in pieces, available for observation—as it has been during its recent, painstaking restoration in the hangars and shops of the Air Museum’8 storage center at Silver Hill, Maryland— made the job of illustrating the aircraft muck easier, and more satisfying to an artist-avia' tor. You get a much better feel for the sub' ject. Old photos are good only up to a pom1. But, by climbing into the navigator’s cockpb in the bow, you can get a fair idea of ho"' Read must have felt. It is fortunate that he was only 5 feet 4 inches; a tall person could easily have fallen out of the craft. With a slight amount of leaning, you can look straight down on three sides. No fittings for 3 safety belt are in evidence, and it is not difficult to imagine how exhilarating High1 through rough air must have been.
Looking aft towards the pilots’ cockpit, you can visualize how their heads and shoulders protruded, their faces unprotected from the wind. Aviators can well appreciate the panic Read must have felt on that day long ago> when, sandwiched between thick clouds, the big seaplane began to go out of control and he was helpless there in the bow, unable to communicate with his distracted pilots.
Farther aft is the engineers’ cockpit. Aboard
the NC-l, Bellinger had crawled back there to hfop a smoke bomb. After pulling the pin, s°rnething caught his attention and he momentarily forgot about the incendiary—until 't suddenly ignited and began to burn his hands. He managed to get it over the side instead of letting it fall into the cockpit, just ■orward of which was the fuel compartment Vvith nine 200-gallon tanks.
From start to finish, the story of the transatlantic project is a tale of perseverance over- c°rning endless difficulty. The airplane design a°d construction phase was an around-the- clock evolution. As a result of that effort, the rst craft successfully flew one year from the htne plans were laid. The courage and stam- lna of the crews of the NC-l and NC-3 were remarkable in the awareness of the fiercely ^reatening conditions that confronted them.
0r more than five hours, Bellinger and his rrien fought to save their disintegrating plane,
the NC-l, in mountainous seas and 60-knot winds. Their transfer to the Greek ship, Ionia, was a feat of superb seamanship perhaps overshadowed by Towers’ concurrent experience in the crippled NC-3, which he managed to sail -backwards—205 miles to his destination in the Azores. .
But, to this observer, of all the many fascinating aspects of the flight of the NC-4 and her sisterships, there is one detail, which has escaped examination by the majority of the accounts, that perhaps best typifies the spirit and determination of the hundreds of men involved in this first flight across the Atlantic.
Chief E. Harry Howard was one of the original engineers assigned to the NC-4. As an expert on the Liberty engine, he had been with the planes from the start. In The Triumph of the NC’s, Read recounts an incident that occurred at N.A.S. Rockaway, N.Y., at the outset of the flight: “The day before the flight was started, just as the NC-4 was preparing to leave the beach for a trial flight, the second in its existence, and the first with its regular crew on board, the mechanician, Chief Special Mechanic Howard, had his left hand cut off by our pusher propellor. His nerve and grit were really marvelous. Scorning all assistance, he jumped to the ground and, holding on to the stump, walked to the dispensary and reported for treatment.”
An hour later, Howard returned to the ramp and pleaded with Commander Towers to be allowed to go on the flight. “Of course,” Read continued, “he had to be left behind; he had our deepest sympathy, for. . . he had worked tirelessly in whipping the motor installations into shape, and his whole heart and soul had been wrapped up in the transatlantic project.” For Chief Howard, the magnificent adventure came to an end, as he was driven away to a hospital.
The next day, 8 May 1919, against a background which must have been something like the scene depicted on the cover, the NC-4 flew off into history.
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