RIDERS OF THE WIND
ROBERT F. DEBURGH
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 Robert F. DeBurgh
Second Edition
Cover art by Robert F. DeBurgh
Discover other books in the “Riders of the Wind” series
Riders of the Wind
Winds of Fate
Winds of Kunlun Shan (coming soon)
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DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to the pioneering men and women of aviation who lived and loved during the heroic years of the 1920s and 1930s. We stand tall only because we stand upon their shoulders.
ACKNOWLEGEMENTS
The author would like to thank the following persons:
Greta, for her fine research and her forbearance while I was writing this book; Stephen Pitcairn of Pitcairn Aviation; Nancy Wright at the Airmail Pioneers website; the staff of the Virginia Aviation Museum and the staff at the Royal Air Force website.
I would also like to thank the staff of the Museo Dos Indios in Brazil and the staff of the Fourth Fighter Group website for their aid in obtaining accurate information.
I would also like to thank the persons who have read this book during the course of its writing and kindly offered their suggestions - Sharyn, Shirley, Bud, Anna, Sissel, Dita, Jim and David. Also thanks to Bob, my librarian for finding me the proper reference books.
Also my thanks to Silke for keeping my recalcitrant computer running so this book could be written.
“THE WINDS OF FATE BLOW AND CARRY US WHERE THEY WILL. TO GOOD OR BAD, WE CANNOT KNOW. WE ARE, ALL OF US, RIDERS OF THE WIND.” (MARIE DEBURGH, “SEASONS PASSING”)
FOREWORD
This book is a work of fiction, though it is based on the life of a real person, Charles A. Cross Jr. (1907-1969) and his career in aviation.
Many of the events in this story are actual events; many are pure fiction, and some based on legends. Many of the characters, such as Alvin Burton and Doretta Cross are real, but many, such as Phil Haley and Roger Dales are based on a cross-section of people in aviation during the period and are fictional.
Historical persons have been used in the context of their interaction with the main characters and in their historical context. They are portrayed as the author perceives them.
Every effort has been made to depict historical events with accuracy and the author begs the forgiveness of the reader for any errors in dates, people involved or descriptions.
Our story traces the life of Charles A. Cross Jr. and his friends and family during the heroic years of aviation from 1922 to 1941. It depicts in personal terms, aviation and the pioneers involved from the era of the Curtiss Jenny to the Supermarine Spitfire of World War II.
This is the first volume in the “Riders of the Wind” series. Volume II, Winds of Fate is now in publication and Volume III, The Winds of Kunlun Shan will be published in 2012.
Charlie Cross
PART ONE
ON MAIL SERVICE, 1922-1931
CHAPTER ONE
Curtiss JN-4 Jenny
BEGINNINGS
It was mid September 1929 and clouds the dirty gray of overlaundered sheets scudded beneath the wings of the biplane as the pilot guided her in the direction of Albany and his final destination of the day’s flight. Above, the high layer of cirrus clouds was broken by an occasional opening that let through rays of an already setting sun, igniting spots of red fire on the undercast. It was dead smooth flying between layers like this and Charlie Cross was appreciative of not having to fight the turbulence that normally came with flying the Hudson River Valley at this time of year. The quiet time gave him time to relax and to let his thoughts wander.
The airplane was brand new. A big Pitcairn Super Mailwing built especially for the mail service with a Wright J6 Whirlwind engine of 225 horsepower. This powerplant gave the big bird the capability of taking off from some of the shorter fields on the route with a full load of mail and perhaps the one passenger that there was room for in the cramped seating forward of the pilot’s cockpit. There was only a small square side window for light in the forward compartment and no way to communicate with the passenger, but Charlie deemed that a blessing since he didn’t have to listen to idle chatter throughout the flight as he would have in the one Curtis Robin cabin monoplane that the company possessed.
Not that Mr. Keller, Inspector for the US Post Office was given to idle chatter, but his presence made Charlie nervous. It was, on Mr. Keller’s approval only, that the Pitcairn would go into regular service on the Hudson River run and it was desperately needed as the Curtiss biplanes were getting old and run down.
Good enough for a while yet, thought Charlie. I’ve flown many an hour behind those old Liberty and OX-5 engines with only a few blown cylinders and one total loss of oil pressure. Of course they did tend to overheat in the summer. The Wright gives a whole new dimension of reliability and safety to these long flights, especially at night. Another plus is that this new Pitcairn has a good radio and the gyroscopic turn and slip indicator. Sure helps when a guy can’t see, like in bad weather or at night.
With an hour or so of flight yet to go before beginning letdown for Albany Charlie let himself drift back in his thoughts to when he was first learning to fly. He found himself again on his Father’s dairy farm in Franklin Lakes, New Jersey. A boy of fifteen, he was precocious, with a penchant for getting into mischief (though with a gift of gab that as often as not, got him right out of trouble). Charlie was tall for his age, tended toward skinniness and the awkward look that many teenagers have before they start to mature. He was dark of hair, which his mother kept close cut, and with the humorous brown eyes of his Father, Charlie Senior. He had a ready smile, always willing to laugh at a joke or to play one on someone.
Charlie had an affirmed aversion to farm work. This was why, on a day in 1922 that changed his life forever, he was lying in his special hiding place in the bushes near the east pasture, studiously ignoring his Mother’s calls to come help Uncle William get the cows in for milking.
Suddenly, from a distance away toward the East, came the staccato sound of engine exhaust and the swish of air through the wires and wings of an aeroplane. Shortly a Curtiss Jenny came into view, flying low over the fields and woods, heading directly for him. The Jenny circled the pasture once, cut power and glided in to touch down in a rather bouncy landing in the middle of the field. The pilot taxied over to the fence line, killed the engine and began to climb out.
This was too much for Charlie. He bolted from his cover regardless of being caught for chores and ran toward the plane whose pilot was now walking toward the house.
“Uncle George, Uncle George,” Charlie cried as he assaulted the tall bulky figure who was desperately trying to remove his flying helmet and goggles. Hitting George amidships Charlie managed to tumble both of them to the grass where they rolled over and over in mock battle. “Take me up Uncle George, please, please. Fly me over town. I want everybody to see me flying.”
“Not today Charlie,” George said a little breathlessly. “I’m nearly outta gas and I’ve got to talk to your Papa right away, maybe tomorrow.”
“OK Uncle George,” Charlie replied, “but you gotta promise.”
“I promise, Charlie. If I possibly can, I’ll take you up tomorrow. Let’s go up to the house now and get something to eat. I’m starved.”
George Strasser was Charlie’s mother, Kristina’s brother. Five years younger than Kristina, he retained a youthful exuberance, energy and a joy of life that Charlie’s mother found it hard to fathom and his father criticized as being irresponsible, but secretly envied.
George had been a fighter pilot in the Great War, flying SE-5s and Thomas Morse Scouts and ever since he had been unable to settle down and hold a real job for very long. He had worked on the farm for a while, but tired of the rural life, had quit and using every penny he had earned as a down payment, had bought the Jenny a year ago. Since then he had been barnstorming the East Coast doing passenger and sightseeing rides out of farm fields in New Jersey and Pennsylvania. Not making much money according to Charlie’s Papa. Having lots of fun though, thought Charlie. I bet he gets all the girls.
Actually George was in serious financial trouble. The barnstorming business was too competitive and his old aeroplane just didn’t attract the customers the way the newer, flashier planes did. The weather had been bad too and he had nosed over in a muddy field, breaking the propeller and costing him all that he had saved. Now he was behind in the payments for the plane and the bank was looking for him to repossess it.
None of this Charlie or his Father knew, though George had told Kristina over the telephone a month ago and between them they had worked out a solution. George would leave the Jenny tied down in the back pasture for a while and go into New York to find a job that would pay enough to bail him out of trouble, at least for the winter. In the spring he would take the Jenny out to Ohio and Illinois where the business was better.
This seemed a great cure for the money problem, but when Kristina greeted her brother at the kitchen door he sprang another surprise on his long-suffering sister.
“Teeny,” he said, “you’ll never guess what I’m going to do. I’m getting married.”
“You? You great oaf? You’ve had an eye for the girls as long as I can remember. You know what happened with your first marriage. I can’t picture you settling down to married life and besides, you haven’t any money and no job to support a wife. Who’s the lucky girl?”
“Milly Sieger,” said George. “You know her. The Siegers lived a half block down from us in New York. We’re really in love Teeny and we’ll make it all right. I have a job lined up and we’ll stay with her folks until I save enough money for an apartment. We do need a little to get started though. Do you think I could borrow a hundred dollars from you?”
Suddenly Kristina realized that Charlie had been listening to all this with a dazed look on his face. “Scat Charlie,” his mother said, “and if you tell your Papa what you heard, I’ll skin you alive.”
Uncle George married? Charlie just couldn’t believe it. That meant he would be living in New York and leaving his aeroplane here at the farm. At that point one could almost see the devil prodding Charlie in the rear with his pitchfork and a thoughtful look came over the boy’s face.
The next morning when Charlie awoke George was already gone, headed for New York, his girlfriend and hopefully, a job. Charlie was disappointed that he didn’t get to ride in the Jenny and went about his chores sulkily for the rest of the day. Until, that is, he went down to the pasture where the plane was tied down to the fence with a couple of big rocks under the wings. Charlie just stood and stared at the Jenny, the seeds of an idea forming in his mind. He had taught himself to drive the tractor and sneaked a drive or two in the family model T when he was just thirteen.
Why not the plane? I’ve been up twice with Uncle George, how hard can it be? I’ll just teach myself to fly it, can’t be much harder than the tractor, Charlie thought.
He had to do it soon though since school would be starting in a few weeks and he would have no free time, what with the school work and his chores. So it was decided. He would teach himself to fly and no one would be the wiser. Then he could be a part of all the books about the war aces he so loved to read.
The next morning Charlie was up before the rest of the family, secretly draining gas from the tractor. He got a full five-gallon can and set out for the pasture. The first problem presented itself when he tried to find where to put the gas. He found a filler cap on the side, behind the engine, but no, when he opened it there was just black engine oil. This was the oil tank. He climbed around and finally found another cap on top of the cowling just ahead of the front cockpit. This one smelled like gasoline so he poured the can into it feeling satisfied when the little wire that protruded from the cap, having been near the bottom, was now about one third up.
Got gas, Charlie thought. What now? Better figure out how to start this thing.
He climbed into the rear cockpit because that’s where Uncle George flew from and he started to play with the controls and work the switch and the throttle. Finally he figured out that the switch that said left, right, both and off was the ignition.
Hmmm, not like the tractor or the model T. They’re either on or off, must be both. Two is better than one. No crank though, and I didn’t even see a hole to put it in.
Then he remembered seeing George swing the propeller to start the engine. Now he knew how to start the engine. He was familiar with the lever that said, throttle since the tractor had a similar lever. The stick wiggled the little flaps on the wings and when he pushed or pulled it, it moved the tail. There was a wooden bar near his feet that didn’t seem to do much until he pushed it right and left and found that it moved the part of the tail that was sticking straight up.
I got it. This is how you steer left and right, and the other flappers on the tail make it go up and down. He had oversimplified but was basically correct. This is going to be easy, he thought.
Charlie targeted his first flight for Sunday morning. He would play sick and his mother and father and Uncle William would go on to church. He would be alone on the farm with no one to hear when he started the engine. He planned to circle the pasture a couple of times land and tie the plane down again. Longer flights would have to wait until he stole more gas.
Sunday morning dawned bright and cloudless with a gentle breeze barely waving the branches of the maples outside Charlie’s window. He disdained coming down for breakfast. His mother would know he was sick if he skipped eating and would consign him to the thermometer and bed for the day. It worked extremely well, almost too well since his mother wanted to stay home from church to nurse him.
“I’ll be OK, Ma. I just feel a little sick to my stomach. Just go on without me,” Charlie said.
His mother replied, “All right Charlie. We’ll be gone only a little while. Stay in bed and rest. Your chores can wait.”
About an hour later Charlie heard the model T rattle off down the road toward town. Jumping out of bed, he threw on his clothes and ran down to the pasture. There it sat, that beautiful aeroplane. And… he was going to fly it today.
He untied the wings and climbed in the cockpit. For a while he just looked around and moved the controls up and down and back and forth until he was satisfied that he knew what everything did. He pumped the throttle several times and jumped to the ground, walking to the nose of the craft and scrutinizing the propeller. He had seen Uncle George swing the prop to start the engine but he didn’t remember which way he had turned it.
Let’s see, it blows air back over the aeroplane so it’s like a big fan. It has to turn so the blades take a bite of air from the front. OK, this way.
Charlie had it figured out right. The prop turned counter-clockwise when viewed from the front. Realizing this, Charlie walked up to the prop, grabbed the big blade and gave it a hefty swing, nothing. Several more attempts gave similar results. He then remembered he had not turned on the ignition switch, so returned to the cockpit and turned the switch that said ‘magnetos’ to where it pointed to ‘both.’ Tugging on the prop again yielded more satisfying results, a spit from the carburetor and several pops from the exhaust pipes.
Charlie was pretty winded by this time so he decided, one more pull. If it doesn’t start I’ll rest for a while.
Charlie had left the throttle in about half open position and when he pulled the prop again the OX-5 engine started with a roar. Charlie ran back about a hundred feet, afraid the prop would chop him into little pieces of Charlie. Fortunately, he had forgotten to untie the tail from the fence so the Jenny, straining to move forward, went nowhere, simply sitting there bending the fencepost, roaring and shaking.
Charlie finally got up enough courage to approach the plane, reach into the cockpit and pull back the throttle to idle. He then went to the tail and untied the tiedown rope. He climbed into the cockpit and experimented a bit with the throttle. Like the tractor, more gas and it goes faster, less and it goes slower.
He fastened the seat belt and advanced the throttle until the plane began to roll forward, then slowly added about half throttle. By this time the plane was bounding over the pasture at a good clip and the fence at the end was approaching rapidly. Charlie searched in vain for the brake pedal.
No brakes, that’s stupid, and I’m stupid for trying this. The fence was within a hundred feet of the plane, which looked like it would crash and destroy itself when another idea flashed through Charlie’s head.
The stick, dummy, pull back on the stick. Back is up. I’ll jump the fence. Charlie gave a firm yank on the stick and slammed the throttle to full open. The Jenny bounded into the air like a flushed pheasant and climbed for all it was worth to about five hundred feet where the novice pilot began to get a bit worried that he might climb like this until he ran out of gas. Then fall rapidly and disastrously to earth. He eased back on the throttle to try to save some fuel and the plane leveled off all by itself.
During the climb they had been making a left turn not of Charlie’s doing. He didn’t care though, since he was going to go that way anyway. He had intended all along to circle the pasture to the left, only because he had seen George do it that way. As the plane leveled off, the turn stopped and headed straight for town. This was another imminent disaster. His parents would see him and he’d be in the soup for weeks. He started to experiment with the controls. The stick yielded nose up or down and when pushed left or right banked the plane in a similar direction and when banked, started a turn.
He still couldn’t figure out what the rudder bar was for. When he pushed it, the plane gave a lurch in the direction of the side he kicked, which made him feel kind of queasy. He decided not to fool around with that and tried the throttle. When he reduced power, the nose came down and he lost altitude. When added, power increased altitude.
Wow, thought the intrepid aviator, this is easy and lots of fun, a little scary, but fun. About that time he noticed the fuel gauge wire was down almost to the level of the cap and he decided to go back and land. This couldn’t be too hard. He’d seen George do it many times.
Just push the nose down, ease back on the throttle and land. Just about then the engine gave a sputter, a cough and completely died. Silence reigned except for the whisper of wind in the wires. The Jenny nosed toward earth and began a glide all by itself. They were near the pasture and Charlie hoped they’d make it over the fence. The Jenny seemed to be still flying all right except for going down so Charlie eased back on the stick to try to hold altitude. A shudder ran through the entire frame of the plane and Charlie eased forward again.
Don’t do that again. That feels dangerous, he thought. By now they were at about fifty feet high and over the end of the field, still coming down rapidly. Charlie saw the ground approaching shut, his eyes in anticipation of the crash and accidentally pulled back on the stick for something to hold on to. The Jenny rotated nose up, stalled about ten feet high and dropped in. The first bounce opened Charlie’s eyes and he watched in horror as the Jenny proceeded to bounce and carom across the pasture, dipping from right to left, main gear to tailskid. Finally they bumped to a stop several yards from the fence, Charlie collapsing in a trembling heap in the cockpit.
At last he managed to pull himself together enough to climb out. Lifting, pushing and pulling he dragged the Jenny back to the tiedown ropes. He walked around the plane, but could see no damage and with youthful resiliency shook off the scare and vowed to try it again as soon as he could.
Next time though, he’d go to the library and read all the books about flying he could find before getting in the Jenny. Charlie checked out and read several books on aeroplanes and flying before he found what he was looking for. A book titled An Army Aviators Guide to Flying the Curtiss JN-4, written by an army colonel in 1918. There was another book by Army Flying Corps ace Billy Mitchell that really thrilled Charlie but didn’t give much information on his present problem. He decided that there was only so much one could learn from books, the rest only came from practical experience.
The next Saturday, Charlie dragged two five gallon cans of gas down to the pasture, poured them into the Jenny and armed with his rather skimpy guide to flying the craft, set out to teach himself to fly. He now knew what all the controls were supposed to do and had practiced with them on the ground before starting the engine. Charlie felt confident that he could really learn to do this by himself. Besides, there was no other option if he wanted to become a pilot. The nearest airport was an hour’s drive in the family model T and flying lessons were bound to be expensive. This was the only way.
Charlie’s takeoff on this second flight was less than perfect but infinitely better than his first, purely accidental one had been. This time he MEANT to take off. The book had said to always take off and land into the wind so Charlie taxied across the field, swung the ship into the wind and pushed the throttle full forward. The OX-5 engine responded with a roar and they went bumping across the field, Charlie keeping a semi straight course with the rudder.
When the Jenny reached flying speed she lifted off smoothly, beginning a normal climb with Charlie keeping the nose at the proper angle with the stick. At about a thousand feet on the altimeter Charlie eased back on the throttle to about mid way and pushed forward on the stick until the nose was level. He spent the next half-hour experimenting with the controls, flying around in circles, doing turns, climbs and descents. He figured by that time his folks would be back from the farmers market where they sold produce on autumn Saturdays, so he turned for home. A problem arose when he tried to find the farm. Everything looked different from the air and he had done so many turns and circles he had become disoriented.
Not lost, he told himself, just off course a little. This was a term he had learned from one of his books. He circled again, a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, until suddenly he spotted the kidney shaped lake at the west end of the farm property. Now he knew where he was and proceeded to fly with a heading of south on the compass until he saw his airport, as he had begun to call it.
This time his landing was a little better. At least he kept his eyes open and worked the controls as the book said he should, even though he bounced and jigged across the pasture before coming to a stop by pulling back full on the stick and digging in the tail skid. This time he taxied to the tiedown spot and didn’t have to push the Jenny halfway across the field.
After that, Saturdays became flying days for Charlie. He got a newspaper delivery route and saved money for gas and oil, also salting some away for future use. He changed his attitude toward chores, getting them done in record time, as he did with his homework. He conned his father into driving him to Wayne Township airport to buy an aeronautical chart ‘just to study’ and a pair of war surplus goggles ‘to protect his eyes from the dust when cutting hay with the tractor.’ By this time his parents thought him responsible enough to be left at home in charge of the farm while they spent a weekend in New York visiting old friends and neighbors.
By Thanksgiving, Charlie had become quite proficient in the Jenny, flying increasing distances on the nicer days and practicing his maneuvers until they were perfect. His landings were, on the most part, good. The only maneuver he had trouble with was stalls. The first one was the scariest. He entered the stall by easing back on the throttle to idle and pulling up the nose. The recovery was simple. Just push the nose down and add power and the airplane would start flying again. Charlie however, didn’t count on a wing dropping away and when it did he pushed the stick in the opposite direction to bring it up again. The falling wing fell even faster and very quickly Charlie rolled over and began to spin. In panic he held the stick full back. The plane spun even faster with the nose pointed straight toward the ground.
I’m gonna crash. Gosh, I’ll probably die. Then what’ll I tell Dad? Thinking this, Charlie let go of the controls and covered his eyes, waiting for the impact. After a bit however, he felt the Jenny stop spinning and start to nose up slightly. Opening one eye he saw that he was in a shallow dive and still had altitude so he shakily pulled the nose up, added power and headed right for home. That night he re-read the chapters on stalls and spins five times. The next time up he entered and recovered from spins both right and left.
Charlie was, by now, wanting one of the new Bureau of Aeronautics pilot licenses. One was still not required to fly one’s own aeroplane but it would prove to his parents that he was serious about becoming a pilot. The flying bug had bitten the boy and would be with him his entire lifetime.
The weekend after Thanksgiving, Charlie climbed in the Jenny and made the short twenty-minute flight over to Wayne Township airport. He circled the field twice looking at the windsock, turned into the wind and made the best approach and the prettiest landing of his short career. He taxied up to the hangar, shut down the engine and pushing up his goggles asked the man who was walking toward him, “Sir, is there anybody around here who can teach me to fly this aeroplane?”
Two weeks later the man from the Bureau of Aeronautics came to Wayne Airport and watched as Charlie did three takeoffs and landings. Calling him into the office, the federal inspector wrote Charlie out his first pilot’s license at age sixteen. He had kept it the past years for good luck and even now it was in the pocket of his flying suit.
In the past seven years a lot had happened. Charlie had taken a job at Wayne Airport, washing and fueling aeroplanes in exchange for flight time, a small pittance and tips from transient pilots. George had married Amelia, taken in his daughter Mildred from his previous marriage that had lasted all of two months and had three more children. George was quite a success now. He owned the bottling end of the dairy business in Franklin Lakes, a diner in the city and had bought a half interest in the farm and a big house in Englewood. One thing saddened Charlie though, George had sold the Jenny and totally given up flying even though it was his first love.
Charlie had worked for a year at the airport and finally amassed enough hours to get his commercial pilot's license at seventeen years of age. He began flying passengers on sight seeing rides and even flying charters in the company's Bellanca every once in a while. For several years he worked at one aviation job or another, flying in Pennsylvania, New York and even as far away as Virginia, gaining invaluable flight experience over all types of terrain, through all kinds of weather. His flights covered most of the east coast from Maine to Florida and inland as far as Illinois and the Great Lakes area. He felt he had been really lucky in the breaks he had gotten and his advancement in the aviation business.
In 1927, his experience and resourcefulness landed him a job with Mid-Hudson Airlines and here he was today, in September 1929, flying what was to his way of thinking, the best mail plane ever designed. Charlie loved aviation and everything about it including being a pilot for Mid-Hudson.
CHAPTER TWO
Pitcairn PA-5 Mailwing
ALBANY
A gentle updraft lifted the biplane and roused Charlie from his reverie. Looking at his watch he saw it was time to call Albany on the radio and give them an estimated time of arrival. Charlie yawned, stretched and began tuning the frequency on the big short wave radio.
“Albany Radio, this is Newark Mail 101, estimating arrival at Albany in thirty minutes. One passenger on board and we have three sacks of mail for Syracuse and Buffalo. Looks like we’ll be right on time tonight.”
The answer came almost immediately through the hiss and crackle of static. “Newark 101, this is Albany. Visibility is about ten miles, ceiling is one thousand feet and the wind is calm. You’re on time and the Buffalo mail is waiting to pick up your sacks. We’ll light the field for you in about fifteen minutes. By the way, Mr. Haley has been waiting for you to get in. He wants to talk to you, I have no idea what about.”
Oh great, thought Charlie. An hour to get there, land, transfer the sacks and do the paperwork and then at least two hours talking to Mr. Keller and the Albany boss, another hour to get something to eat and finally to the hotel. Gotta be up at five in order to leave with the morning mail at six. Boy am I beat.
Charlie had left Haddon field near Newark, New Jersey at eleven a.m. and made stops at Teterboro, Nyack, Westchester, White Plains, Kingston and Poughkeepsie, At each stop, throwing mail sacks off and putting others on with no help from his passenger. Mr. Keller was there to observe, not to help as he had told Charlie in no uncertain terms. At each destination he had clicked his stopwatch exactly on touchdown and stopped it again when the wheels lifted off, noting the elapsed time in a small notebook. Charlie felt like a new species of insect under the scrutiny of an entomologist and he felt very put upon.
He pulled back on the throttle a little and the rumble of the engine subsided as the Pitcairn started a slow descent toward Albany. He entered the cloud deck at about four thousand feet, already on instruments. Holding his nose down attitude by watching the airspeed indicator and his wings level with the turn and slip indicator. His rate of descent he read from the vertical speed dial.
This is so easy now with all these new instruments. A few years ago it would have been dicey to say the least. I like the idea of having a good radio too. He had heard stories of how older pilots with no gyros had to rely on a whiskey bottle up in front of the panel to judge whether their wings were level. Not that he believed these tales. Most of his fellow aviators never drank when they were in the plane. Or so he hoped.
At one thousand five hundred feet he began to slow his descent and level off. He thought he would ease down a little at a time until he was in the clear. The sun had begun to set and it was dark inside the overcast. Charlie knew that it would be full dark beneath it.
Got to be careful, he thought. I think I’m a little west of course and there are lots of hills around west of town. Don’t want to run into a cumulo-granite.
At one thousand feet, Charlie broke out of the clouds. Below him was darkness with a peppering of a few ground lights a bit closer to the belly of the airplane than he would have liked. Looking to the east he spotted the lights of Albany and swung the aircraft around. A few minutes later the beacon of the airport came into view followed by the runway lights. He switched on the two powerful landing lights on the wings and turned onto final approach, throttling back and letting the plane settle. There was no wind so no correction was necessary and the flair and touchdown were smooth. Charlie taxied across the field and shut down in front of the hangar where the plane that would carry the Buffalo night mail was waiting.
He was met by the Albany mechanic Alvin Burton, a friend he spent a lot of his off time with. Alvin was a Canadian by birth and had immigrated to the US two years ago. Two years younger than Charlie, he was nonetheless an expert aircraft mechanic with an intuitive sense of what was wrong with any airplane. At five feet three inches, Alvin could fit into places in an airplane that most mechanics would have had to take panels off to access.
He had a shock of flaming red hair that constantly looked as if it had been blown about by the propwash of an engine at full throttle and suggested a rather volatile temper. This could have not been farther from the truth. Alvin was, in fact, most of the time a calm and considerate person who spoke in a soft Scottish burr. The few times Charlie had seen him lose his temper though, he had totally exploded and left all the other shop crew terrified of him.
Alvin walked up to the plane as Charlie was getting out. “How’d it go Charlie? The engine sounded a little rough when you were coming in, any problems with the plane?”
“Nope Al, she purred like a kitten the whole flight except for final approach, might have fouled a plug on the descent. Y’know, I love this airplane. I thought the old Fleetwings were good aircraft, but this gal is so much better; faster, better climb, more range and a lot more stable. It’s just a great airplane to fly. Hey, I guess we better help Mr. Keller out. It doesn’t look like he’ll make it by himself.”
They both went over to the Mailwing and Charlie opened the hatch in the side that enclosed the small passenger compartment. Moments later a briefcase came flying out to be caught by Alvin and was followed by a rather large pair of buttocks attached to Mr. Keller.
“Nice flight Charlie,” Keller said, rubbing his back and stretching. “I appreciate not having to sit out in the wind but the passenger cabin could really use a little more room. I’m going inside and fill out my reports. You guys finish unloading and join me and Mr. Haley as soon as possible.” So saying Keller walked toward the hangar with a noticeable limp.
“What’s up Al?” Charlie asked. “Why does the boss want to talk to us? I thought it was just me, that I’d gotten in trouble for something but I guess they want you too.”
“First I’ve heard about it, laddie. We’ll find out but before we do anything let me tell one of the boys to check that engine, then let’s get those mail sacks unloaded, after you get out of that.”
The ‘that’ Alvin was referring to was Charlie’s flight suit. Called a ‘teddy bear’ by all the mail pilots, it was leather lined with thick wool fleece and indeed made a pilot look like a bear. It was also a pain in the neck to put on or take off and restricted movement to a large degree. So much so that one pilot, trying to bail out of a plane who’s engine had quit over the mountains at night, couldn’t climb out and had to roll the plane upside down and fall out of the cockpit. The suit’s saving grace was that it was the warmest piece of clothing ever devised by man and when combined with helmet and fleece-lined flying gloves could keep a pilot nice and toasty down to many degrees below zero.
Charlie and Alvin lugged the local mail sacks over to the hangar and put them on a platform for the mail truck into town to pick up. The sacks for the towns up the Mohawk River valley to Buffalo, they put on the ground next to the older Pitcairn Fleetwing so that the pilot could load them himself, which most preferred to do. It was commonly felt that no one but the pilot knew how to load an airplane so it would be in balance and each pilot had his own preference for nose or tail heavy.
Finishing the job, Charlie opened the tiny luggage compartment behind the pilot’s headrest on his Mailwing, fished out his overnight bag and they both headed for the office, jostling and kidding each other as good friends do. “What do you think Al? Is it gonna snow? Late September’s a little early for it around here.”
“Dunno Charlie. Had a few flakes of wet stuff an hour or so ago but it stopped almost as soon as it started. Smells like it though. Don’t worry about Roger. Buffalo’s reporting clear with unlimited visibility. As soon as he gets about fifty miles west he’ll be well out of the overcast.”
Charlie did worry though. He had flown the Buffalo mail at this time of year before and he knew how treacherous the weather could be. Buffalo could be inundated with lake effect snow within a half-hour. Clear one minute and with a shift of wind, zero visibility the next. He was glad he wasn’t Roger tonight.
Charlie opened the office door allowing a flood of light onto the darkened ramp and he and Alvin walked into the slightly overheated office. Phil Haley greeted them from the corner of the room where he was pouring a cup of the poisonous brew they called coffee here.
“Hi Charlie, come grab a coffee and sit down. This won’t take long, you too Al.” Keller was behind one of the desks pounding furiously at a reluctant typewriter with a grim look on his face. Evidently finished, he zipped the paper out of the machine, stood up and handed it to Charlie.
“Charlie, the flight went very well. We spent minimum time on the ground at each stop and minimum flight time between even though we did run into some weather. I’m going to approve the Pitcairn PA-7 Super Mailwing for use not only on the Hudson River route, but on all Mid-Hudson Airlines routes if they want to use them.”
With this Charlie let out a whoop and Keller said, “Not so fast Charlie. There’s more. I’ll let Mr. Haley tell you the rest.”
He gestured at Phil Haley and Haley said, “Sit down boys, I’ve got a lot to say to you. The other pilots based here already know but the guys from some of the other bases don’t. I guess I better include the shop and ground crews in that too. The big news is that Mid-Hudson Airlines has been sold to Pitcairn Aviation in Bryn Athyn, Pennsylvania. As you may know we've been in financial trouble for quite some time. What with the condition of the stock market and the owners making some very bad investments, we are now just about broke. I know, I know, we just got contracts for two new routes which could save the company but the offer from PA just looked too good to refuse and the stockholders voted 95% for the sale.
“Now don’t worry boys. No one is going to lose his job. There’ll be a few changes such as Alvin is going to Haddon Field in Jersey and Charlie will still be based there but will have a new route. The airplanes will be taken care of as follows.”
Phil picked up a sheet of paper on the desk. Slipping on his reading glasses, he read from it. “One Pitcairn PA-7 Super Mailwing on lease from Pitcairn Aircraft to be returned to the factory. Two Pitcairn PA-5 Mailwings, five Pitcairn PA-4 Fleetwings, one with Martinsyde 3 cockpit conversion to be sold with the company to Pitcairn Aviation, two DeHavillands DH-4s and one Curtis Robin to be sold to cover Mid-Hudson debts.
“So that’s it fellas. You pilots and mechanics will stay on with the company. I don't know about me though. Nobody's said anything about managers or office staff.”
Charlie and Alvin stared at each other in disbelief. They both had been with Mid-Hudson for two years. Alvin had made chief mechanic at Albany and Charlie had one of the most sought after routes on the line. Both had felt that their positions were secure in these precarious times and had no wish to go job hunting or worse yet to be completely jobless.
Charlie asked, “Phil, when does this come into effect? Do we have any time to give this some thought and do we continue with our routes for a while?”
“Guys, it was effective as of this morning. We are as of this moment Pitcairn Aviation. Charlie, I want you to stay here overnight and tomorrow. One of the other pilots will bring the mail up from Newark. You’ll fly the Buffalo mail tomorrow night and then continue the next day to the factory at Willow Grove with the PA-7 for its inspection. It's done over one hundred hours of flight time and the factory boys want to see how it’s holding up. After they’re done you make the short hop to company headquarters at Bryn Athyn. Harold Pitcairn himself wants to meet you. By the way, take Alvin with you. They want him too. Now, go get some sleep and rest tomorrow. You know what that run is like if there’s any weather. Alvin, you’re off tomorrow too and no carousing tonight boys. I’ll see you about five o’clock tomorrow.”
Just then one of the night shop crew walked in and told Alvin, “Al, that Mailwing has a bad magneto. Looks like little pieces all over the inside of it. It'll need a whole new mag. How soon can we get one?”
Phil Haley regarded the mechanic with a sour look and picked up the phone to call Newark. After a few minutes conversation with the home office he turned to the others and said, “We can’t get one before Friday morning. They’ll ship it up with the morning mail so it looks like you fellas will have a couple of days off. Not you Al. I want you to install the new mag so all you get is tomorrow. I’ll make all the arrangements with Newark and I’ll call Willow Grove and tell them you’ll be a couple of days late. Now get outta here. I’ll call you if I need you.”
As they walked out into the chilly darkness of the night Alvin said to Charlie, “No hotel for you tonight, laddie. You’re going to stay in my flat. But first let’s eat. I don’t know about you but my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”
They jumped in Al’s old flivver and headed into town. On the drive they discussed what they had heard in the office and decided to just go along and see what happened. Maybe it would mean more money and advancement in position. It was a hope anyway.
Charlie didn’t know much about Albany since usually he just spent the night and was away back to Newark with the morning mail. This was repeated every other day, whatever the weather. Only one time had he spent a couple of days in the town and this was during a winter storm last year that even had the railroads shut down. The only real information Charlie had was that Albany was the capital of New York and there was a large college located there.
They drove around town for a while, Alvin showing Charlie the sights and pointing out various places of interest. He turned to Charlie and said “M’boy, we’re going to eat in the best place in town. It’s an old speakeasy down on Water Street. Good food, good band, good booze and lots of college girls. Whaddya say ol’ pal?”
“Sounds great Al, I could eat a horse’s hind end first and I could sure use a couple of beers after tonight.”
“I know what you mean, laddie. Me too, and I’d really like the company of one of them lovely ladies.”
Charlie was never much of a ladies man. His main two loves in life were flying and his big Indian motorcycle. He had a few girlfriends during his teens and early twenties but the relationships were casual for the most part and the serious ones didn’t last too long. This was mainly because of the nature of Charlie’s job. He was never sure when he would be home or when he’d be called in the middle of the night to fill in for a pilot who had called in sick or was stranded with a broken airplane at some little out of the way airport.
Alvin, on the other hand was a confirmed lady-killer. The girls considered him some sort of Scottish elf and fussed over him like they would a cute little boy. He went through girlfriends like a child through a bag of candy and was never without one or two girls on his arm. He seemed to know a girl in every town within a hundred-mile radius of Albany.
Some elf, thought Charlie, if they only knew.
They turned the corner onto Water Street, rattled down a couple of blocks and pulled the old Chevy over to the curb. Getting out they walked several doors down, descended a few steps to a large door, which Alvin banged on heartily. Inside, Charlie could hear music playing and the sound of conversation and laughter. Suddenly a face appeared at the peephole in the door.
“Whaddyawant,” a gravel voice asked. Then, “Oh it’s you, Al. C’mon in.” With this the peephole closed and Charlie could hear several latches being withdrawn. The door creaked open and they walked into a room filled with people, smoke and the din of a jazz band.
“Find us a table would ya, Benny,” Al said to the man monster that belonged to the voice at the door. “Someplace not too near the band. My friend has sensitive ears.”
The answer was a simple “OK, dis way” and they followed the broad back to a corner table. After they were seated and the perambulatory mountain had retreated to his guard post at the door Charlie said, “Whooo! I sure wouldn’t want that guy mad at me. He looks like he could break you in half with two fingers.”
“Illusion me boy. He’s gentle as a lamb, yep, gentle as a lamb. He’s an ex prizefighter. Had one too many punches to the head and the docs say he can't fight anymore. He’s sort of door keep, bouncer and maître’d. Nice guy when you get to know him.”
Illusion or not, Charlie thought, I still don’t think I want to get on his bad side. Charlie was feeling a bit out of place. The place was loaded with college students and even though they were only a few years younger than he was they were all dressed for the evening. The girls were in long silk skirts with their hair done just so or in flapper outfits with their hair cut short in the fashion of 1929. The men were in slacks, jacket and bow ties for the most part. He and Al were in just slacks and shirts and Charlie’s were a bit rumpled from the trip in the tiny baggage compartment. He also felt that he needed a shave.
About the time he had finished making himself uncomfortable a short, chubby blonde waitress came up to the table. “Hi Al, who’s your cute friend?”
“Hi May, this is Charlie. He’s an airmail pilot and the best there is. How about bringing us a couple of beers and a couple of hamburgers this thick.” Al held up his hand with the thumb and index finger about six inches apart.
“Right away hon, you boys get first rate service here.” And she bounced away toward the kitchen. Their food arrived a short while later. Two hamburgers at least six inches thick and a huge portion of french fries. They immediately wolfed down the meal and ordered their second beer.
Looking around Charlie noticed a little dark haired girl sitting at a table over by the band. Her companions were a tall dark complected man and a willowy blonde. The three were engaged in an animated conversation that was quite obviously about him and Al from the looks directed their way. Suddenly the man arose and made his way to the boy’s table.
Al greeted him familiarly. “Hi Marty, how’re you doing? How about joining us? Plenty of room and you and Charlie here are both pilots so you should have plenty to talk about.”
As Marty went to get the girls, Al said to Charlie, “That’s Giovanni Martino. His father’s a big wig of some kind in New York City. He prefers to be called Marty. The blonde is his girlfriend Betty but I don’t know the dark haired girl, I’ve never seen her here before.”
The three came over and getting a spare chair sat down. Al went through the introductions. “Folks, this is Charlie Cross. He’s an airmail pilot just in town for the night. Charlie, this is Marty. He’s a pilot too. He owns that pretty little Travel Air B-4000 biplane in the back of the hangar.”
Charlie remembered seeing the Travel Air sitting in the corner of the hangar. It was indeed a lovely little airplane, painted white with red scallops on the leading edges of the wings and tail and a red stripe down the fuselage. It looked fast even sitting still.
Al continued with the introductions. “This is Betty, she’s a senior at the State College for teachers and due to graduate.” The dark haired girl introduced herself. “Hi fellas, I’m Doretta, Doretta Morrow. I’m a senior too, a teaching major.”
Doretta was tiny in stature, with large, expressive brown eyes and her soft brown hair cut in a short bob. She was wearing a knee-length skirt and a hip length blouse in print silk for the popular Garconne look. Her makeup was simple with pale powder, rouged cheeks and the fashionable red bee-stung look on her lips. This attractive, well-spoken girl intrigued Charlie, even though he told himself he didn’t like short women.
The group ordered more drinks all around and the conversation lapsed into aviation talk which visibly bored the girls until Doretta asked how pilots managed to fly in bad weather when they couldn’t see.
“It’s easy,” said Charlie. “We bring a cat and a duck with us when the weather’s going to be bad. Cats have a built-in sense of which way is up so when we can’t see we bring out the cat and sit him up on the instrument panel. We just keep an eye on the cat and when he leans, we bank the airplane to correct back to straight and level. When we get where we’re going we throw the duck out and just follow him to the ground. The only trouble is that cats are sometimes stubborn or lazy and refuse to sit on top of the panel and ducks are really flaky and tend to fly south in the winter instead of descending to land. That's why mail pilots sometimes get lost.”
Everyone except Doretta was suppressing giggles while this was going on and when Charlie was finished, burst into laughter. Doretta glared at him and reaching behind her pulled out her purse and soundly whacked Charlie over the head.
“Charlie Cross, you are a tease but I forgive you. How about dancing with me as punishment for that?” Charlie was not a very good dancer but felt that he should please Doretta after taking advantage of her gullibility about flying as he had.
They made their way out onto the small dance floor and since the band was playing a slow number Charlie put his arms around Doretta and they began to sway with the music, the steps coming easily to Charlie for once. Doretta put her head on his chest and both arms around him. Charlie had never liked short girls so could not explain the feelings that came over him on the dance floor. They danced for a while and then walked over to the bar to sit and rest. It developed that Doretta was from Englewood, New Jersey, which was just about thirty miles from Newark where Charlie was living and even closer to the farm in Franklin Lakes.
They spent the rest of the evening together dancing and talking almost to the exclusion of the rest of the group. They were sitting back at the table when Betty looked at her watch and said, “Kids, I hate to say this but if we don’t leave now we’re gonna get back after curfew and that means we’ll be grounded for the weekend.”
“Charlie, could you and Al give me a lift back to the college?” Doretta asked. “We’ll give these two lovers a little privacy.”
They paid the tab and Doretta, Al and Charlie climbed into the rattletrap Chevy and drove to the college. Parking in front of Doretta’s sorority house, she and Charlie got out and walked up to the front door.
Charlie had no idea what had come over him but he asked, “Doretta, can I see you again sometime? I really like you.”
“I like you too Charlie, even if you are a tease. I don’t have classes tomorrow. If you’d like I can show you around the college and you can buy me lunch. Then you can show me your airplane.”
Charlie readily agreed to this arrangement and Doretta said that she would stop by and pick him up about ten the next morning. She fumbled in her purse for a moment and came up with a pencil and a bit of paper.
“These are my phone numbers here at the college and back in Englewood. I’ll be home a few weekends and then for two weeks during Christmas holiday. Please call me, I’d really like to see you. Maybe we could go flying or at least spend some time together.”
She handed him the paper, stood on tiptoe, kissed him lightly on the cheek and was gone through the door. Charlie walked back to the car feeling strangely elated.
Wow, what a girl. She’s pretty, intelligent, can take a joke and has a wonderful sense of humor. I just don’t like short girls, but I sure like her.
When he got back to the car Alvin said, “Looks like you two really hit it off, Charlie boy. She seems like a real sweetie. You were just about walkin’ on air coming back to the car, looks like she got to ya.”
“Uh-uh Al. I don’t like short girls.” But all the way to the flat and while he was trying to get to sleep Charlie’s thoughts were all of Doretta. The last thing he thought before sleep overcame him was, but I don't like short girls.
Charlie and Doretta spent the entire following day together; driving around in Doretta’s Packard convertible, walking, talking and getting to know each other. They ended their day with dinner in an excellent restaurant and since Doretta had an early class in the morning, they drove back to Alvin’s place.
Just before Charlie got out Doretta said, “Meet me for lunch tomorrow Charlie, about twelve o’clock in front of the administration building. It’s my treat tomorrow. I have classes all day but can get out for a couple of hours at noon.”
“That’d be great Doretta. We’ll be leaving for Buffalo at six o’clock and that’ll give us a little time together.”
Charlie reached down and took her hand and gave it a little squeeze and Doretta leaned over and gave him another light kiss on the cheek.
“Night Charlie, sleep well,” she said with a sly little smile. “I'll see you tomorrow.” As she drove off in the big Packard, the smile stayed on her face all the way to the dorm.