The Mannerheim Line
by
Jacques Evans
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Synopsis:
The Mannerheim Line follows a historic timeline and is the story of two Americans, Jimmy Carson and Joe Lyons, who meet while flying for the Loyalists during the Spanish Civil War. They fly together through three wars. In 1961, Lyons is killed when he is shot down at the Bay of Pigs. Unwilling to admit an American pilot was involved the CIA devises a cover story that Carson, who was not involved in the Cuban invasion, doesn’t believe. Years later he uncovers a bizarre incident and unravels the cover story.
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Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2002 by Jacques Evans
All rights reserved.
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Fraser's Run
Mizrahi's Prison
South of Cayenne
Kuchma's Dictum
Flight to Dungavel
The Betty G's Gold
The Mannerheim Line
The Czar's Last Soldier
Last Bridge to Baghdad
Von Weizsacker's Diary
The Last Flight of the Blue Goose
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This book is for personal use only. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means without the prior written consent of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a newspaper, magazine or journal article.
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This is a work of fiction. All similarities between characters and persons living or dead are purely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1 ~ New York, 1928 - 1933
Chapter 2 ~ New York, Newark 1933
Chapter 3 ~ Newark, College Park, 1933 - 1934
Chapter 4 ~ Newark, College Park, 1934
Chapter 5 ~ Newark, California, 1934
Chapter 6 ~ Newark, California, 1934
Chapter 7 ~ California, Newark, 1934
Chapter 8 ~ California, Newark, 1934 - 1936
Chapter 9 ~ Newark, Chicago, 1936
Chapter 10 ~ Newark, New York, England, France, 1936
Chapter 11 ~ Gibraltar, Spain, 1936 - 1939
Chapter 12 ~ Gibraltar, Switzerland, Finland, 1939
Chapter 13 ~ Finland, January 1940
Chapter 14 ~ Washington, D.C., February 1940
Chapter 15 ~ Finland, February - March 1940
Chapter 16 ~ Finland, Gibraltar, March 1940
Chapter 17 ~ Washington, D.C., April 1940
Chapter 18 ~ Gibraltar. April 1940
Chapter 19 ~ England, April 1940
Chapter 20 ~ England, Europe, May - June 1940
Chapter 21 ~ England, July - August 1940
Chapter 22 ~ England, August 1940
Chapter 23 ~ England, August - November 1940
Chapter 24 ~ Washington, D.C., November 1940
Chapter 25 ~ England, November 1940 - December 1941
Chapter 26 ~ Washington, D.C., December 1941
Chapter 27 ~ England, France, Germany, January 1942 - March 1945
Chapter 28 ~ China, Burma, India, Newark, January 1942 - March 1945
Chapter 29 ~ Newark, California, Germany, April 1945 - June 1948
Chapter 30 ~ Germany, June 1948 - May 1949
Chapter 31 ~ Newark, California, June 1950
Chapter 32 ~ Washington, Japan, Korea, June 1950 - November 1953
Chapter 33 ~ Japan, Korea, June 1950 - November1953
Chapter 34 ~ Miami, Central America, December 1953 - April 1960
Chapter 35 ~ Miami, Central America, Cuba, May 1960 - April 1961
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Chapter 1 ~ New York, 1928 - 1933
The decision to build a municipal airport was made on February 3, 1928. That same day sixteen-year-old Jimmy Carson's father died in his sleep in a walk-up tenement on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn. At the time New York City did not have an airport. The city fathers decided to build the airport on Barren Island a 387-acre marsh with thirty-three small islands. Located in Jamaica Bay on the southern tip of Brooklyn Barren Island was chosen by aviator Clarence Chamberlin as it was easy to locate from the air and did not have any obstructions.
Not aware of this momentous decision Jimmy Carson, an only child and now his mother's sole support, had to quit high school and go to work. With help from his Tammany Hall precinct captain Jimmy got a job on a dredge. For three years he helped pump 6,000,000 cubic yards of sand from Jamaica Bay to connect the islands and raise the airport site to sixteen feet above the high tide mark. That was his day job. At night he attended Brooklyn Technical High School---the school he dropped out of after his sophomore year. After three years of night school he finally obtained a high school diploma.
Ceremonies attended by 15,000 people for the formal opening of the field were held on May 23, 1931. Amid much publicity Admiral Byrd, Mayor and Mrs. Walker and Mrs. Floyd Bennett arrived to formally dedicate the field. And so it was that Floyd Bennett Field came into existence and Jimmy Carson lost his day job.
The field was named after New York's favorite aviator, Floyd Bennett, who lived in Brooklyn. A naval aviator since 1917 Bennett served aboard the U.S.S. Richmond where he met Admiral Richard E. Byrd. In 1926, Byrd and Bennett made history when they were the first men to fly over the North Pole. Both men were awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. Byrd and Bennett made plans for a second flight over the South Pole. In 1928 the crew of the Bremen, attempting a non-stop flight from Europe, was forced down on Greenley Island, Quebec. Despite a high fever, Bennett took off from Detroit to attempt a rescue. At Murray Bay he was stricken with influenza but refused to turn back. Bennett died of pneumonia before the second polar flight. He was buried at Arlington National Cemetery. Admiral Byrd dropped a stone from Bennett's grave over the South Pole to honor his friend.
High above Floyd Bennett Field formation and stunt flights by army and navy planes thrilled the dedication ceremony crowd. When Jimmy, who was in the crowd, looked into the sky on Saturday, May 23, he decided to become a pilot. Monday morning he went to the army recruiting station and learned that he needed some college before he could apply for pilot training. Not easily discouraged, Jimmy went to the navy recruiting center and found the navy had the same stringent requirements.
Without the financial means to attend college, Jimmy read every book he could find on aviation and haunted Floyd Bennett Field for a job. Eventually, Phil Sloan, a crippled pilot turned mechanic took him on as a helper for five dollars a week. As time went by Jimmy learned to repair engines, weld, build wooden ribs and splice cables. As often as possible he traded his labor for flight instruction.
Unfortunately, in the thirties, five dollars a week was not enough to house, clothe and feed two people. Jimmy's mother took in washing in order to pay the landlord and the iceman. Jimmy tried to find a night job but they were few and far between in the midst of the Depression. As his father fought in France during World War I Jimmy made inquiries at the Legion hall. The bartender gave him the phone number of a bootlegger who furnished the booze the legionnaires drank. In spite of his mother's protestations Jimmy called the bootlegger.
Jimmy was nervous when he went to the St. George Hotel for his appointment with Big Jim Gallagher. After he entered Gallagher's suite, he was patted down then ushered into the bootlegger's office. The big man standing by the window was six feet tall, weighed over 200 pounds and looked like an Irish politician. An ex-soldier, Gallagher grew up in the Flatbush area. He was hard as nails on the outside but was a soft touch for Flatbush veterans and their families. The boy who stood in front of his desk was in his late teens, lean, a shade under six feet, and wore a shock of blonde hair. He walked toward Jimmy and extended his hand, "I take it you're Frank Carson's boy."
"Yes, Mister Gallagher."
"If I remember right, your dad served with the First Division."
"That's right, sir."
"What can I do for you?"
"I need a night job, Mister Gallagher."
"I was told you work at the airport."
"I work as a mechanic but can't get along on what they pay me."
"What do they pay you?"
"Five dollars a week."
"Why don't you ask for a raise?"
"My boss, Phil Sloan, can't afford it. Phil can't even afford a room and sleeps in the hangar."
"Why don't you look for another job?"
"I'm learning to fly and the barnstormers at the field can't afford to hire anybody."
"If you work for me you're liable to end up in the pokey. I don't think that's the type of job you want."
"I don't want to do anything crooked."
"I know a couple of guys in Oyster Bay that own two Jennies they may have something."
"Where's Oyster Bay, Mister Gallagher?"
"It's on the island. You have to take the Long Island Railroad to get there."
"That's too far from the airport. Thanks anyhow, Mister Gallagher."
"Look kid, I'll try and find you something. Call me next week---how are you fixed for dough?"
"I've got subway fare."
"Here's ten bucks to tide you over."
"I didn't come here for a handout, Mister Gallagher."
"Handout my ass it's a loan. Pay me back when you can afford it."
A week later Jimmy phoned Gallagher. He was surprised when Gallagher told him he had a job and to check in with Artie at the Legion hall. That evening, Jimmy met with Artie who turned out to be the manager of the clubhouse.
"Big Jim recommended you, kid. I need somebody Friday and Saturday nights to wait on tables and help clean up when the party is over. Can you handle that?"
"Sure can, sir."
"You don't have to call me sir, I was a corporal. Call me Artie."
"Yes... Artie."
"Aren't you going to ask how much it pays?"
"No... I mean yes."
"Three bucks a night plus tips. One other thing, Big Jim says you're to stay away from the broads, booze and the slots."
"What time do you want me to start?"
"Check in with me between six-thirty and seven. Wear dark pants, a white shirt and dark tie. I'll furnish the jacket."
His first day on the job, Jimmy checked in early with Artie and was given a starched white jacket to wear over his Sunday pants and shirt. He was surprised that booze was served in the member's bar even though it was against the law. He also noted that the wall was lined with nickel slot machines. Jimmy waited on tables in the large dining room. At midnight, after the band and guests left, he piled chairs on top of the tables and mopped the floor. After three weeks on the job Jimmy paid Gallagher back the ten dollars.
Most nights, Jimmy made five or six dollars. He insisted that his mother stop taking in washing. Jimmy's tips usually ranged from a dime to a quarter but there were exceptions. Gallagher occasionally came to the hall on Friday or Saturday nights accompanied by a group of men and women, and after they left, there was always a dollar tip by each man's seat. One Friday night Gallagher and two well-dressed men came into the hall. Jimmy thought it strange that neither Gallagher nor his guests ordered booze; instead, they ordered coffee. When Jimmy went into the bar, for another customer, the bartender said, "Big Jim must be doing business tonight."
"What do you mean?"
"Big Jim never drinks when he's discussing business."
"Who are the fellows with him?"
"I don't know their names but they're rumrunners from Oyster Bay. They have a fleet of airplanes, trucks and ships."
"How do you know that?"
"Look, kid, in my job you hear things. When you wait on them look for a bulge in their jackets. They're always armed to the teeth."
When Jimmy brought the tray from the kitchen to Gallagher's table he could see that each man wore a shoulder holster. When he studied their faces he identified Bill Murphy, a bootlegger, from pictures he'd seen in Hearst's Daily Mirror. From the aviation books he studied Jimmy thought he recognized one of the men as a World War I ace. When he heard Big Jim call the man Cliff, he was sure he was right. Cliff Huff was a double ace with twelve kills---he was also identified by the Daily Mirror as a bootlegger. When the band started playing Gallagher, Murphy and Huff left. And, as always, there was a dollar bill by each man's seat.
As the Air Commerce Act of 1928 was the law of the land pilot licenses were required to fly. It took Jimmy a while but in 1932 he finally received transport license number 428. He sometimes filled in for a hung over barnstormer on weekends by carrying sightseers for a dollar apiece. Jimmy turned all the money he collected over to the barnstormer who owned the plane. He was glad to get the free flight time. The going rate for flight time was seven dollars an hour with a flight instructor and four dollars an hour without.
In the presidential election of 1932 a Democrat defeated Hoover. After Franklin Delano Roosevelt took office, and before the year was out, Prohibition was repealed. During his frequent visits to the Legion hall Gallagher knew that Jimmy wanted to buy an airplane so he could fly sightseers. When he heard that Huff had a Curtiss JN-4D for sale, he passed the word to Jimmy and offered to loan him the money. Jimmy had worked on and flown Jennies. He knew the open-cockpit, two-seat biplane had a top speed of 75 mph and was powered by an eight-cylinder, 90 horsepower, OX-5 engine. Although Jimmy would have preferred a Jenny with a 150 horsepower Hispano-Suiza engine he knew the D model would be cheaper to operate. After discussing it with Phil Sloan, Jimmy decided the D model would be ideal for flying sightseers.
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Chapter 2 ~ New York, Newark, 1933
Carrying a small satchel, and borrowed money from Gallagher in his pocket, Jimmy and Phil Sloan boarded a Long Island Railroad train for the trip to Oyster Bay. At the railroad station they made a telephone call to the company that was selling the Jenny. Twenty minutes later a chain-drive, Mack truck picked them up and dropped them off at a grass strip where two Jennies were parked.
The man who met them was the pilot Jimmy saw with Gallagher at the Legion hall. As they shook hands, Jimmy said, "I'm Jimmy Carson and this is my partner Phil Sloan."
"Cliff Huff."
"Mister Gallagher said he spoke to you about the Jenny," Jimmy said.
"That's right---he said to give you a good deal. You can pick any machine you want. Run them up and look them over. When you're through I'll be in the office over there," Huff said as he pointed to a large barn-like structure.
Jimmy and Sloan ran the engines and spent two hours inspecting the Jennies. "What do you think, Phil?"
"Hell, there isn't a nickels worth of difference between them. Both have about the same amount of hours. I like the yellow one."
"That's okay with me," Jimmy replied as they walked toward the office.
A few minutes later they entered the office and found Huff rifling through a stack of papers. "Which one do you like?" Huff asked.
"We'll take the yellow one. That was three hundred and twenty five dollars, right?" Sloan asked.
"For Gallagher's friends, three hundred even," Huff replied as he prepared the bill of sale.
After Jimmy gave Huff the money and received the bill of sale, they walked back to the Jenny. Jimmy removed helmets and goggles from the satchel then climbed into the rear cockpit. "Switch off!" he shouted to Sloan.
Sloan turned the propeller through three times then yelled, "Contact!"
After he turned the magneto switch on, Jimmy hollered, "Contact!"
Sloan spun the propeller and the OX-5 sprang to life. After Sloan climbed into the front cockpit Jimmy checked the windsock. He taxied to the end of the grass strip and checked the magnetos then opened the throttle. From his office window Huff watched as the Jenny roared down the strip then lifted off.
Jimmy's landing at Floyd Bennett Field was uneventful. The next morning Sloan cut a stencil that read 'CARSON AIR' and stenciled the name on both sides of the Jenny. Jimmy painted a large wooden sign that read 'SEE NEW YORK FROM THE AIR FOR ONLY ONE DOLLAR.' That day Jimmy took up his first passenger. After ten minutes he landed and picked up another sightseer. By the end of the day Jimmy had earned sixteen dollars. He kept two dollars out for expenses and another seven to repay his loan then split the rest with Phil.
In the months that followed Jimmy repaid Big Jim Gallagher. With Sloan's encouragement Jimmy prepared to bid on an airmail contract. Before he bid Jimmy studied the history of the airmail service. It started in 1834 when Postmaster William T. Barry declared, "...the celerity of mail should always be equal to the most rapid transition of the traveler." Jimmy had to look up the word 'celerity' and found that it meant rapidity of motion.
Airmail service began on May 15, 1918 when Army Air Service pilots flew the first scheduled mail route between New York and Washington, D.C. A stop in Philadelphia was required as the range of the army planes was less than a hundred miles. One round trip a day was scheduled six days a week.
Before the army could haul the mail, their JN-4Ds had to be modified at the Curtiss plant on Long Island. The dual-control Jenny was built to accommodate a flight instructor and a student pilot. It needed more power, greater range and a baggage compartment before it could carry the mail. Curtiss engineers and mechanics removed the front seat and controls and added a mail compartment. They doubled the gasoline capacity and replaced the OX-5 with the more powerful 150 horsepower, Hispano-Suiza engine. After the modifications were complete, the D models designation was changed to JN-4H. The army placed an order for twelve H models.
The first New York airmail terminal was Belmont Park, a racetrack. Bustleton Field, near the railroad station, was the Philadelphia stop and Potomac Park's old Polo Grounds served as the Washington terminus. Only six army pilots were assigned the job of hauling the U.S. mail.
Three months later, August 10, 1918, the U.S. Postal Service, with its own planes and pilots, took over the airmail routes. In the few months the army carried the mail in 1918 their pilots completed 270 flights and carried 40,500 pounds of mail. Their total flight time amounted to 422 hours. Due to bad weather fifty-three flights made forced landings enroute. Sixteen flights made forced landings due to mechanical failure. Most flights carried something over 100 pounds of mail. While there were mishaps and numerous problems the army pilots never suffered a serious injury or fatality. This was a remarkable accomplishment considering the crude maps and instruments available at the time. The only navigation instrument available to the army pilots was a magnetic compass and it performed poorly. Their worst enemy was the weather. The best that could be said was that the mail got through most of the time and the bureaucrats deemed it a success---the army pilots thought otherwise.
On September 1, 1927 the U.S. Postal Service turned the airmail operation over to commercial operators under government contract. Jimmy was generally familiar with the history of airmail contracts from then on and knew he needed help preparing his bid. He tried to contact Big Jim Gallagher but found that federal agents arrested him a few weeks before. When Jimmy tried to contact Huff he had already fled the state one step ahead of an arrest warrant. Although he did his best the Postal Service rejected Carson Air's bid.
During 1933 Jimmy's mother died and his girlfriend dumped him---she left for California and married an actor. To make matters worse Phil Sloan's crippled leg gave out and he couldn't work anymore. Jimmy bought him out and Sloan went back to the family farm in Nebraska. Jimmy's dream of starting an airmail service came to an abrupt end.
Jimmy received a job offer to fly the mail out of Newark Airport. He thought of Floyd Bennett Field as home and was reluctant to leave. He'd only been away from New York once and that was a flight to Newark. Jimmy strapped his few belongings into the front cockpit and took off from Floyd Bennett to his new job at Newark. As a farewell gesture Jimmy circled the field and rocked his wings then turned on a compass heading toward Newark.
Enroute, he thought of the friendships he formed and events he'd witnessed at Floyd Bennett Field during the last five years. As a boy Jimmy helped build the airfield that never lived up to New York's expectations of becoming a major airmail terminal and commercial field. In an effort to wrest the airmail terminal away from Newark, the city of New York spared no expense on Floyd Bennett Field. A seaplane base was built on the southern waterfront to facilitate trucking mail to Manhattan and portions of Flatbush Avenue were rerouted and widened at considerable expense. It was all to no avail. New Yorkers, not willing to give up the fight, turned their attention to building a new airfield closer to Manhattan than either Floyd Bennett or Newark.
Rejected by the U.S. Postal Service Floyd Bennett Field became home to private pilots, barnstormers and aviation buffs. It was the scene of many record-breaking feats. The first record-breaking flight took place in 1931 when Russell Boardman and John Polando took off from Floyd Bennett and landed in Turkey setting a long distance record.
In 1932 it was the finish line for the Bendix Trophy Race that originated in Burbank, California. In that race James Hiazlip set a trans-continental speed record of ten hours and nineteen minutes. In the 1933 Bendix Race Colonel Roscoe Turner set a new cross-country record of ten hours, four minutes and fifty-five seconds.
Floyd Bennett Field was home to many women flyers. Jimmy and Phil Sloan knew them all and worked on many of their airplanes. In 1932 Ruth Nichols set an altitude record of 19,928 feet in a Packard monoplane and Annette Gipson set a speed record for aircraft weighing less than 1,000 pounds. In the 1933 Annette Gipson Race twenty-three leading aviatrixes competed for the $850 first prize---Henrietta Sumner was the winner.
Also in 1933 Maurice Rossi and Paul Codos took off from Floyd Bennett and set a new long distance record flying to Rayak, Syria in fifty-six hours. In that year Wiley Post took off from Floyd Bennett, in the Winnie Mae, and landed there after completing a solo around-the-world flight that covered 15,957 miles.
After Jimmy sighted Newark Airport he snapped out of his reverie. He turned on downwind then made his final approach and a near perfect landing. Jimmy taxied to a parking area near a large wooden hangar. Over a one-story shack, built onto the side of the hangar, a sign read 'Larsen Air Service.' Jimmy climbed out of the cockpit and walked toward the shack.
The furnishings were sparse and included a desk, two chairs and a clothes tree littered with helmets, goggles and leather jackets. Behind the desk, a middle-aged man in coveralls raised his head. Jimmy took off his helmet and goggles then said, "I'm Jimmy Carson, the new pilot."
The man rose and extended his hand, "You must be the guy Wiley and Phil Sloan recommended. I'm Pete Larsen."
"Yes, sir. Phil used to be my boss and partner, Mister Larsen."
"I flew with Phil in the last war. We served in the 95th Aero Pursuit Squadron together. How's his leg?"
"His leg finally gave out and he went back to Nebraska."
"He's lucky to be alive. The kraut gunners shot the shit out of his Spad and he barely made it back to our base. Phil lost so much blood he couldn't get the bird down in one piece. But enough of that do you need a place to stay?"
"Sure do. Someplace close if possible."
"There's a boarding house within walking distance. I'll get somebody to drive you over there. Check with me tomorrow morning and I'll take you on a familiarization flight."
Larsen opened a small, sliding window into the hangar and hollered at a mechanic. A young mechanic in grimy white coveralls entered the office. "Al Pierce meet Jimmy Carson, our new pilot."
The men shook hands. "Take my car, and drive Jimmy over to the boarding house," Larsen said as he handed over the keys.
Jimmy followed Al and entered a 1928 Chevrolet sedan. Jimmy pointed toward his Jenny, "Stop at the yellow Jenny so I can get my stuff."
Al drove the Chevrolet alongside the Jenny and parked. Jimmy got out and stowed his gear in the back seat. It was only a short drive to the boarding house. Jimmy rented the cheapest room he could get and paid a months rent in advance. The twenty-dollar a month rent included breakfast and supper. Al helped Jimmy carry his belongings to a clean room on the third floor.
"A lot of our pilots who aren't married live here so you should feel at home. The bathroom is down the hall and they have a radio in the living room."
"Thanks for your help."
"See you around," Al said as he closed the door.
*****
Chapter 3 ~ Newark, College Park, 1933 - 1934
After an early breakfast Jimmy left the boarding house and walked to the airport. On the way he passed four Lockheed Vegas bearing Larsen Air Service markings. The Vega, powered by a single 750 horsepower Wright 'Whirlwind' engine, was designed in 1927 by Jack Northrop. It was a high wing monoplane of monocoque, molded plywood construction. The Vega had an enclosed cockpit and cabin that could accommodate up to four passengers. Jimmy stopped long enough to examine one of the Vegas then entered Pete Larsen's office.
"Good morning, Mister Larsen."
"Good morning, Jimmy. How's your room?"
"Its fine, Mister Larsen."
"I saw a venturi on the side of your Jenny have you got a turn and bank indicator?"
"Yes, sir. The fellow I bought it from installed it."
"Who did you buy it from?"
"Cliff Huff. He flies for an outfit in Oyster Bay."
"Hell, I know Cliff. He's a great guy. I met him during the war."
"I heard he skipped town one step ahead of an arrest warrant."
"I haven't seen him in a couple of years but heard he sold a lot of booze during Prohibition."
"That may be why he skipped."
"You're probably right, kid. Have you learned to use the turn and bank indicator?"
"Yes, sir. I can fly needle, ball and airspeed."
"Great! You'll get a lot of instrument time hauling the mail. I'm going to assign you the College Park run---it's a 200 mile leg."
"College Park, Maryland?"
"Yes. It's the airmail terminal for Washington, D.C. We fly the roundtrip six days a week weather permitting. Most days you can follow the railroad tracks but there are times when you'll have to fly a compass heading. Can you swing a compass if you have to?"
"I've swung quite a few. I always carry a brass instrument screwdriver."
"Good! There's a compass rose here and at College Park. They should have our bird ready in a few minutes meanwhile you can fill out this employment form."
After Jimmy completed the form Larsen looked it over then placed it in a manila folder. Jimmy followed Larsen out the door to a nearby Vega. Larsen told Jimmy to fly the first leg. He watched Jimmy go through his preflight inspection. When Jimmy opened the cabin door he noticed the passenger seats had been removed and mailbags filled the cabin.
"Have you ever flown a Vega?"
"I've worked on them and flew one once."
"Do you know how to use a two-way radio?"
"I've used radios but I don't have one in my Jenny."
"Strap yourself in and I'll talk you through the checklist."
Larsen sat on the mailbags behind Jimmy. He was a patient instructor and guided Jimmy through the checklist and radio call procedures. In short order they were airborne. Jimmy checked the map Larsen handed him then followed the railroad tracks. Larsen pointed out some prominent landmarks along the way. In less than two hours they reached College Park. Larsen watched as Jimmy contacted the tower then made a perfect landing.
Larsen showed Jimmy how to handle the paperwork while the mailbags were unloaded. When they were through the two pilots entered the coffee shop and ordered coffee and donuts. Through the coffee shop window they watched mechanics refuel the Vega and load the outbound mail. When the airplane was ready one of the mechanics made an overhand arm motion toward the coffee shop. Larsen left two quarters on the counter. The men rose and headed for the Vega. "How do you like flying a Vega?"
"It beats an open cockpit and the radio is a big help."
"Just remember it's more important to get the machine down in one piece than it is to get the mail through. We've flown the mail for two years and haven't lost a plane or a pilot and I want to keep it that way. We get the mail through on schedule about ninety-seven percent of the time. I'd rather have you turn back than turn up dead. This leg I'm just along for the ride. If you have any questions, sound off."
The return flight to Newark was uneventful. After landing Jimmy taxied to a parking spot in front of the Larsen hangar. As soon as he cut the engine a truck pulled alongside and off-loaded the inbound mail. Larsen and Jimmy walked across the ramp and entered the office. Jimmy shook his head when he was offered a cigar. He watched as Larsen clipped the end off a cigar then lit it. "If you need another familiarization flight, I'll be glad to go along."
"I don't think I'll have any problems, Mister Larsen, but it's up to you."
"You did a good job but I wouldn't expect any less after Phil and Wiley recommended you."
In the months that followed Jimmy got to know every building, every tree and every housetop on the College Park run. He flew the run day in and day out in good weather and bad. Jimmy flew about 100 hours a month and became one of Pete Larsen's best and most dependable pilots. Larsen's other pilots were just as skilled on the other runs.
At first Larsen Air Service only flew the mail. Larsen considered passengers a nuisance, and only occasionally would carry them. Because the seats were removed in order to haul the mail, passengers had to sit on top of the mailbags. As passenger requests grew Larsen could not turn down the additional revenue so he replaced the seats. Congress was encouraging all the fledgling airlines to buy larger planes so they could carry both passengers and mail.
Larsen Air Service was considering changing its name to Northeast Air Express and purchasing two Douglas DC-2s when, out of the blue, Postmaster General Farley cancelled all airmail contracts. A few days later President Roosevelt announced the Army Air Corps would fly the mail. Pete Larsen called all his employees together and made the grim announcement. For the second time Jimmy lost his day job and went back to flying sightseers at Floyd Bennett Field.
What brought about the cataclysmic event were claims that former Postmaster General Walter Brown unfairly awarded airmail contracts. An enterprising reporter discovered that a major contract was awarded to a large airline, even though its bid was three times higher than a small competitor. The scandal reached such proportions that a Congressional investigation followed. Senator Hugo Black of Alabama chaired the committee. During the investigation it became clear that small carriers, such as Larsen Air Service, were constantly fending off merger attempts by vertical airline holding companies. The small airlines, that refused to merge with larger carriers, could not survive without airmail contracts and were threatened with extinction. This, and other nefarious activities, caused President Roosevelt to cancel all airmail contracts and order the army to fly the mail.
The commercial carriers that flew the mail had experienced pilots, two-way radios, and were equipped with the best blind flying instruments available. In contrast army aviation was poorly funded. Nearly all the army planes were open-cockpit machines. Very few had adequate instruments or two-way radios. Because of funding limitations army pilots were restricted to flying 170 to 180 hours per year. Few army pilots were trained in instrument flying as their flying time was accumulated in good weather. While the commercial carriers had over 7,000 employees, the army assigned 200 pilots and 334 mechanics to carry the mail. Colonel Charles E. Lindbergh sent a critical telegram to President Roosevelt that was published in many newspapers. Other well-known flyers, including Captain Eddie Rickenbacker and Jimmy Doolittle, warned of the danger.
Major General Benjamin D. Foulois, chief of the Air Corps, reluctantly accepted the assignment to fly the mail. He knew that his pilots and obsolete planes were poorly equipped to fly scheduled runs in all kinds of weather. Only a few army test aircraft had blind flying instruments installed. Fewer than a dozen army pilots had any real experience flying on instruments---this set the scene for the impending disaster.
And a disaster it was. The public uproar over the splattering of army airplanes and pilots all over the country caused the president to authorize new commercial contracts a month later. In addition a twelve-member board was appointed to investigate the Air Corps. Newton D. Baker, who had been Secretary of War during World War I, headed up the board to study all phases of military flight operations including equipment and training. After twenty-five days of testimony the board concluded that it was 'visionary' to believe that aviation could produce decisive results in a war. Only one participant, Jimmy Doolittle, submitted a dissent.
In the melee that followed, the government forced vertical airline holding companies to divest themselves of aircraft, engine and propeller manufacturers. Combinations such as Boeing, Pratt & Whitney and United Airlines were disbanded and went their separate ways.
The Airmail Act of 1934 forced the airline industry to reorganize and established a new set of rules. Former contract holders were not allowed to bid. Airline companies scrambled to change their names and appoint new executives in order to be allowed to bid. Larsen Air Service changed its name to Northeastern Air Express. With help from Tammany Hall and New Jersey politicians, Northeastern Air Express rose from the ashes and won the bid for the old Larsen Air Service routes.
Although all his pilots and mechanics returned Pete Larsen still had a problem. Some time ago he equipped his four, six year old, Vegas with directional gyros and artificial horizons. As the instruments were vacuum operated, engine-driven vacuum pumps, air/oil separators and other miscellaneous items were required. The modifications were expensive and financed by a short-term bank loan with the Vegas as collateral. When the airmail contracts were cancelled Larsen's cash reserves were used to keep the company afloat. Without airmail payments Larsen didn't have enough cash for the last bank payment.
After Jimmy landed at Newark Airport and reported for work he heard the bad news. Jimmy sold his Jenny and gave Larsen the money from the sale plus every dollar he had in the bank. In return Jimmy acquired a large block of Northeastern Air Express stock.
Along with the other stockholders Jimmy was concerned when TWA started using Douglas DC-2s on the Columbus-Pittsburgh-Newark route. TWA carried passengers as well as mail. The DC-2 was an all-metal, twin-engine transport that could carry up to fourteen passengers with a cruising speed of 185 mph and a take-off gross weight of 18,500 pounds. Always the visionary Larsen informed the Board of Directors it was time to part with the Vegas and either merge with a larger carrier or buy DC-2s. After a week of debate the Board members voted unanimously to acquire two DC-2s.
*****
Chapter 4 ~ Newark, College Park, 1934
After Jimmy landed his Vega at College Park, he started walking across the ramp toward the coffee shop when a young lady stopped him. "Are you flying back to Newark today?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am. What can I do for you?"
"I have to get to Newark in a hurry, there's been a death in my family."
"I'll have to see how much outbound mail they have for Newark. You can wait for me in the coffee shop while I check."
As Jimmy walked back to the Vega, he hoped he would have room for the pretty lady. Fortunately the outbound mail was light. Jimmy walked back to the coffee shop and sat beside the girl at the counter. "I can take a passenger, there's plenty of room. By the way, my name is Jimmy Carson."
"Pleased to meet you, I'm JoAnne Gleaves."
"Miss or Mrs?"
"Miss."
From behind the counter, the waitress placed Jimmy's usual coffee and donuts in front of him. "Now that we've been formally introduced, how about coffee and donuts?"
"That would be nice."
Jimmy turned his stool forty-five degrees so he could see JoAnne and keep an eye on the Vega. "What brings you to College Park?" Jimmy asked.
"I'm Postmaster General Farley's secretary. That's how I knew the Northeastern Air Express schedule. By the way, how much is the fare?"
"Postmaster Farley always flies free so does his secretary."
"Are you sure you won't get in trouble?"
"I'm pretty sure."
When Jimmy saw the lead mechanic make an overhand arm motion he rose, reached into his pocket, laid two quarters on the counter then said, "Time to leave."
After Jimmy left, the waitress smiled when she saw two quarters on the counter. The going rate for coffee and two donuts was fifteen cents; usually, Jimmy left a quarter on the counter. "Jimmy's a big spender today. He left me a twenty cent tip," the waitress said to the cook holding up the two quarters.
"That blonde girl is a looker, she's worth every cent," the cook said.
"That's the trouble with you men, you're only after one thing," the waitress replied.
Jimmy helped JoAnne enter the cabin then showed her how to buckle the seat belt. "Have you ever flown before?"
"No, this will be my first flight."
"There's nothing to be afraid of. I fly this run six days a week and the Vega is a reliable machine."
"I've heard that some people get airsick."
"That's what this brown paper bag is for," Jimmy said as he laid the bag on an empty seat, "This flight will be smooth as silk."
After take-off, Jimmy turned and smiled at his passenger. He took one earphone off and hollered above the engine noise, "How are you doing?"
"It's a little scary."
"That's because we're climbing. In a couple of minutes, I'll level off and you can enjoy the scenery."
After Jimmy leveled off, he turned and smiled at his passenger. She returned his smile. Along the way, he pointed out the landmarks. Jimmy did his best to keep the flight as smooth as possible. When he had Newark in sight, Jimmy pointed out the pilot's side window and said, "That's Newark down below. We'll be landing in a minute."
Jimmy greased the Vega in. JoAnne had to look out the window to know she was on the ground. After he taxied into position and cut the engine, he helped JoAnne out of the Vega. Together they walked toward Larsen's office. Jimmy introduced JoAnne to Larsen as Postmaster Farley's secretary. Larsen gave Jimmy his car keys and said, "You better drive the young lady home."
By the time they reached JoAnne's house, Jimmy was smitten. "Well thanks for the ride, Jimmy."
"When are you going back to Washington?"
"Wednesday."
"Can I fly you back?"
"I don't know."
"If you decide to fly back, you'll have to be at the airport by seven in the morning."
"Thanks for everything."
When Jimmy got back to the office, he handed Larsen the keys to the Chevrolet. "Mister Larsen I didn't charge her the usual fare because someone in her family died."
"What did you charge her?"
"Nothing. But I'd like to pay the fare."
"Forget it, Jimmy. Farley and his secretary can have a free ride anytime we have room."
"That's great, she may fly back with me Wednesday."
"Do you know who her father is?"
"No."
"He's Don Gleaves the New Jersey Democrat State Chairman."
"Do you know him?"
"I've dealt with him a couple of times. Hell, we owe our routes to Tammany Hall and the New Jersey Democrats."
"Did you have to pay them off?"
"Not exactly. I agreed to supply an airplane and fly their senate candidates around in '36 at cost."
"That doesn't sound too bad."
"Hell, I didn't have any money to give them; anyhow, they knew if we didn't get the airmail contract I wouldn't have an airplane to fly them around in."
"You're devious, Mister Larsen."
"I had to be to fight off the bastards that were trying to buy our bank loan and steal our routes."
On Wednesday morning, Jimmy arrived at the airport early. Larsen could hardly recognize him. Jimmy's boots were shined and he wore a clean pair of jodhpurs. In addition, his shirt was freshly laundered and he wore a new leather-flying jacket. "God damn, I've never seen you so clean. If you had a white silk scarf, I'd think you were Roscoe Turner," Larsen joked.
Colonel Roscoe Turner was a popular, well-known aviator. He was a World War I pilot, barnstormer and racing pilot. In 1933, Turner won the Bendix race and the next year won the Thompson Trophy. Turner was noted for his flamboyant dress and flair for self-promotion. Often he flew with his pet lion, Gilmore, as copilot.
"Just trying to show Northeastern in the best possible light, Mister Larsen."
"I think Miss Gleaves has you bamboozled."
Larsen walked back to his office while Jimmy checked his watch. In ten minutes, he was scheduled to take-off. Five minutes later, a black, four-door Buick pulled up to the hangar. JoAnne Gleaves got out and walked toward Jimmy and the waiting Vega. "Sorry I'm late, but I overslept."
"We've got a few minutes yet," Jimmy said as he helped JoAnne into the Vega. During the flight to College Park, Jimmy learned JoAnne often returned to Newark on weekends. He asked if he could see her again and, to his surprise, she agreed. From then on, Jimmy flew JoAnne to Newark every Saturday morning and back to College Park on Monday morning. Occasionally Postmaster General Farley accompanied them. Larsen, anxious to cement his ties with Democrat politicians, sold Jimmy his '28 Chevrolet for $25 and bought a new 1934 Plymouth sedan.
All went well for Jimmy until one Saturday morning, ten miles from College Park, he lost an engine and had to land in a farmer's field. Fortunately, there were no passengers aboard and the Vega didn't suffer any damage. Jimmy walked to the farmhouse and asked the farmer if he could use his phone. The farmer didn't have a telephone, but offered to hitch up his team and drive him to the closest railroad station. Jimmy loaded his two sacks of mail into the buggy. Hours later, they arrived at the station. Jimmy tried to place a call to College Park to advise them of the situation---he had to hang up before the call was completed to catch the train.
By nine o'clock, when Jimmy's Vega was nowhere in sight, JoAnne called Newark. Larsen answered the phone and told her that he would start the search immediately. The only available Vega was in the hangar undergoing an inspection. Larsen called in his lead mechanic and told him to button up the Vega. Thirty minutes later, Larsen was airborne. He spotted Jimmy's plane in the farmer's field and landed beside it. From the farmer's wife, he learned what happened. Shortly after one o'clock, Larsen took off. Minutes later he landed at College Park. JoAnne met the Vega. Larsen explained to a distraught JoAnne that Jimmy landed safely and was bringing the mail by train. They waited in the coffee shop for Jimmy
Of the hundreds of airmail flights Jimmy flew it was his first abort. He felt somewhat sheepish carrying two sacks of mail aboard the train. The College Park postal service employees grinned as Jimmy deposited two sacks of mail on the office floor. "We can always use another letter carrier," one of them joked.
"I'll keep that in mind," Jimmy replied as he completed the paper work then headed for the coffee shop. Jimmy was nonplused when JoAnne leapt into his arms. Over JoAnne's shoulder, he saw Larsen grinning from ear to ear. After they were seated at one of the coffee shop tables Larsen said, "I landed beside your machine and spoke to the farmer's wife. She told me you were on your way. What happened to the engine?"
"The oil pressure dropped to zero and the engine froze up."
"Tomorrow I'll have Al Pierce and his crew truck an engine in and I'll fly the bird out."
"I can fly it out, Mister Larsen."
"That would mess up your weekend. Are you ready to head back?"
Jimmy and JoAnne boarded Larsen's Vega and flew back to Newark. After he parked in front of JoAnne's house, Jimmy proposed. JoAnne kissed Jimmy and said she would have to think it over.
*****
Chapter 5 ~ Newark, California, 1934
In November Larsen sent Ray LaPlante, his most experienced pilot, to Los Angeles to get checked out on DC-2s. After two weeks, LaPlante wired he was ready to take delivery and asked Larsen to send him a copilot and mechanic for the ferry flight to Newark. Larsen assigned Al Pierce, his chief mechanic, and Jimmy Carson to the job.
To save money, Larsen contracted for Jimmy and Al to ferry a movie star's late model Vega from Newark to Los Angeles. The movie star was a better actor than flyer. After landing at Newark, he nosed over and plowed up ten yards of grass. Fortunately neither he, nor his lady companion, were injured. The movie star contracted with Northeastern Air Express for repairs. After a new engine and propeller were installed, Larsen swung the compass then test flew the machine. Satisfied the actor's Vega was in good shape, Larsen briefed Jimmy and Al to watch the weather and only fly airmail routes that had rotating beacons. The beacons, visible to pilots at ten second intervals, made it possible to fly at night.
Jimmy liked and respected LaPlante and looked forward to his assignment. LaPlante, a World War I flyer, was congenial and well known in aviation circles: he usually flew the Newark to Boston run. In Larsen's absence, as second in command, LaPlante ran the airline. LaPlante was married. He had two teen-age sons that spent their spare time learning to fly and hanging around the airport. Al Pierce was fond of the boys and often let them help Northeastern's mechanics. Jimmy and JoAnne attended several dinner parties where the LaPlante's were present and enjoyed their company.
Due to the cost, Jimmy seldom called JoAnne long distance. He made an exception and called her Washington office and gave her the news. Although she knew that TWA had been flying coast-to-coast since 1930, JoAnne was not thrilled. By 1934, technology had advanced, but flying was still dangerous and numerous fatalities occurred. Jimmy assured JoAnne he would take every precaution and stick to the airmail routes. When he told her Al was going along, she felt somewhat better. To bolster JoAnne's spirits, Jimmy told her mail was routinely flown coast-to-coast in less than thirty hours.
On Thursday, November 22, Jimmy and Al took off from Newark Airport. The first leg to Dayton was uneventful. After they ate and refueled, Jimmy took off for Kansas City. By the time they reached Kansas City it was dark. Jimmy spotted the rotating beacon and made a near perfect night landing. They stayed overnight at a Kansas City hotel. In the morning, after breakfast, they refueled the Vega. As the cylinder head temperature gage was inoperative, Al replaced the thermocouple with one he purchased from TWA. The thermocouple sat under the number one cylinder spark plug and was easily accessible, it took Al less than fifteen minutes to replace it. A few minutes later they were airborne.
The leg to Albuquerque went well. They spent the night at a nearby hotel. After breakfast the next morning, Al refueled the Vega while Jimmy checked the weather. The TWA station manager reported ceiling and visibility unlimited at Los Angeles. Jimmy plotted his route then sent a telegram to LaPlante giving his estimated time of arrival as 2:35 p.m. Mountain time. Jimmy preflighted the Vega then took off for Los Angeles. An hour into the flight, Al closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Midway over the San Bernardino Mountains, the Wright engine started running rough. Jimmy scanned the instrument panel. The oil pressure and temperature were in the green but the cylinder head temperature was low. Al woke with a start. He glanced at the instrument panel and watched Jimmy slowly inch the throttle back. The roughness got worse. Jimmy fought to maintain altitude as the engine lost power and almost tore itself from the mount. "You're going to have to shut it down before it tears away from the mount!" Al shouted.
When he saw the engine and propeller twist and assume a canted position, ten degrees from normal, Jimmy turned off the magneto switch. "I can't hold altitude! I'll have to put it down on that slope, strap yourself in!" Jimmy hollered.
The Vega came down on a wooded, snow covered slope. Jimmy lessened the impact by guiding the Vega between two large trees. Both wings sheared off and the fuselage slid for fifteen yards before it hit another tree. When the fuselage came to a stop, loose snow rolled down the slope and covered the Vega.
By two o'clock, LaPlante was on his second cup of coffee at the Los Angeles Municipal Airport coffee shop. After he finished his coffee, he placed a call to Albuquerque and learned that Jimmy took off at 8:35 Mountain Time. Los Angeles was on Pacific Time while Albuquerque was an hour ahead on Mountain Time. LaPlante calculated when Jimmy would run out of fuel and decided to wait another hour and a half before notifying the authorities. LaPlante walked to the control tower then climbed the stairs. The tower operator greeted him. They exchanged pleasantries while LaPlante scanned the skies.
At 3:30 p.m. Pacific Time, LaPlante checked with all the airports between Albuquerque and Los Angeles. Satisfied the Vega did not land at another airport, LaPlante notified the authorities. Search planes swept the area between Los Angeles and Albuquerque until darkness fell. They saw no sign of the Vega. Reluctantly, LaPlante sent a telegram to Larsen. When Larsen read the telegram, he decided to wait until morning to notify JoAnne. Larsen placed a long distance call to LaPlante. He told LaPlante to take delivery of their DC-2, round up a Douglas crew, and join the search.
The next morning, Larsen drove to the Gleaves' house. JoAnne and her father listened attentively as he read the telegram. JoAnne broke down and was comforted by her father. Larsen explained that LaPlante, in a Northeastern DC-2, would join the search and stay in Los Angeles as long as necessary.
At dawn, LaPlante and a Douglas company pilot and mechanic took off in a brand new Northeastern DC-2 for Albuquerque. Although LaPlante did his best, he could find no trace of the Vega. He retraced the route back to Los Angeles to no avail. After LaPlante landed, he sent Larsen another telegram.
It took Jimmy a few minutes to realize he was alive and in one piece. He moved his arms and legs then looked out the windshield and side windows. It was dark but a few rays of sunlight showed through. "Are you OK, Al?" Jimmy hollered.
"I've got a bump on my noggin, other than that I'm OK."
Jimmy searched until he found his flashlight. He turned the flashlight on and noticed the Vega's fuselage did not sustain much damage. When Jimmy looked out the cabin windows, only a few rays of light shown through.
"Shit! We're buried in snow, Al."
Al rose and tried to open the cabin door. He could only open it an inch before it jammed. Both men alternately forced the door open then closed it. Gradually the door opened an inch at a time and formed a cavern under the snow. "Hell, it feels like we're in a submarine," Jimmy said.
"See if you can find my tool box," Al replied
Jimmy turned his flashlight on and located Al's toolbox. "Hand me the longest screwdriver you can find."
Jimmy rummaged in the toolbox. He found an eighteen-inch common screwdriver and handed it to Al. Al reached out the cabin door and poked the screwdriver through the overhead snow until he saw daylight. The Vega was covered by a foot of snow. Al and Jimmy took turns scooping snow away from the cabin door until they were able to get out. Only the tip of the vertical stabilizer was visible; by then, darkness approached. "Do you know where we're at?" Al asked.
"In the San Bernardino Mountains, about 100 miles east of Los Angeles, that's only a three or four day hike."
"You're a city boy, Jimmy. This is rugged country not Brooklyn. What would be a three or four day hike in the city could stretch out to a couple of weeks in the mountains."
Together they scraped enough snow away so the top of the fuselage was visible from the air. Using a tree branch, Jimmy scratched the letters SOS in the snow. That night they slept inside the fuselage. While they slept, a light snowfall covered the Vega and the SOS signal.
In the morning, Al removed the Vega's battery and radio. He cut some wires out of a wire bundle, connected the radio directly to the battery, then fashioned an antenna out of brass safety wire. Al was partly successful, Jimmy could receive but nobody heard his transmissions. They spent an hour fiddling with the radio before they gave up. Jimmy searched the interior of the fuselage. He opened a small-hinged door in the aft fuselage and found a pair of coveralls, an empty quart thermos, a canvas pouch filled with hand tools and a coil of tie-down rope. In one of the coverall pockets, Jimmy found a candy bar. He broke it in half and handed a piece to Al.
After taking inventory of their possessions the outlook was grim, they had no food. Jimmy had warm clothes, a flashlight, a book of matches, a pocket compass, an empty quart thermos, some rope and a hunting knife he always carried. Al had warm clothes, a book of matches, hand tools and a pocketknife. They crashed on a slope leading to a shallow valley formed by twin mountain ridges. Walking out would be difficult but there didn't seem to be any choice. Using a piece of safety wire, Jimmy tied the empty thermos to his belt and slung the rope over his shoulder. Al jammed the long screwdriver into his belt and they started heading west down the slope.
The soft snow was knee deep and they had to struggle to reach the valley floor. They cleared an area, built a fire, rested and melted snow in the metal thermos bottle lid. Again they scratched SOS signals in the snow. Although they did their best, the signals in the wooded valley were not visible from the air when a DC-2 flew overhead.
By noon, they were ready to climb the slope. The going was difficult: each foot they covered was a struggle. Half way up the slope, they were exhausted and had to rest. After an hour, they resumed the climb. When they reached the summit, they saw another shallow valley and a smaller ridge directly ahead. "Think we can make the top of that one, Al?"
"I don't know but we have to try."
And try they did but by nightfall they only reached the valley floor. Al built a lean to while Jimmy started a fire. They drank melted snow and slept on a bed of branches. In the morning, they started up the slope. The going was tough. Al had to anchor and hold on to his long screwdriver to keep from sliding back down in spots. Using the screwdriver and the coil of rope they made it past the worst part of the slope. When they reached the summit, both men were cold and exhausted. Suddenly the wind came up. It whipped the loose snow around and severely limited visibility. They built a fire on the lee side of some trees and huddled around it waiting for the wind to die down. An hour later, as suddenly as it came up, the wind died down. Al rose and pointed toward the west and said, "What's that down there?"
Jimmy shaded his eyes and scanned the gradual slope ahead. "It looks like the top of a snow covered shack. The snow line ends in a couple of miles and I see a town beyond that."
"How far away do you think it is?"
"I don't know; it's hard to tell. The shack is at least a mile away and the town is a lot further than that."
"Do you think we can make the shack before dark?"
"I don't know; it looks like rough going. We better wait till we get our second wind."
"We're starving and freezing our ass off. In the shape we're in, I don't think we're going to get a second wind, Jimmy."
"OK, I'll lead the way this time."
Jimmy started down the snow-covered slope. He stumbled time after time but kept plowing ahead. It was almost dark when they reached the shack. The fifteen-foot, square building was windowless and half buried in drifting snow. Over the door a crudely carved sign read 'Angelus Gun Club.' After clearing the snow from the door, they found it was padlocked. Jimmy kept the flashlight beam on the lock while Al used his screwdriver and pried the hasp off the door. Jimmy opened the door and scanned the interior of the shack with his flashlight.
*****