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the sake of patent claims). A repli- cation of Daniels’ picture graces the front of FAA-issued pilot certificates. On the far right is Wilbur watching Orville making history in 12 seconds and 120 feet (the distance of the first f light covered two-thirds the wingspan of a Boeing 747). The average ground- speed was 7 mph (aided by 20 mph worth of wind). Within 25 years the airspeed record would be nearly 320 mph. Another 40 years and airspeed records were mostly moot – we had landed on the moon.
The first two faces of aviation are literally stamped on the back of an FAA Pilot’s License: Orville to the left, Wilbur to the right. Although Orville was the first person to complete a pow- ered f light, historical
documents point to Wil-
bur as the driving force
behind the accomplish-
ment. The bald brother
with bad teeth (who
never made it to Yale)
penned the first verse in
the modern era of avia-
tion. It would not take
long for the potential of
the Wright brothers to be
spoiled by a series of pat-
ent disputes, most nota-
bly with Glenn Curtiss.
United States aviation
would fall far behind Europe by the First World War as a result. Eventu- ally, Curtiss and Wright would merge into the largest aircraft manufactur- er in the United States, yet neither Glenn Curtiss nor the Wright fam- ily would have any ownership in the corporation (Wilbur died before the company was formed; Curtiss died soon after).
Not far behind the Wright brothers in the pantheon of aviation greats is Charles Lindbergh. His nonstop f light from New York to Paris took an eerily symmetric 33 hours, 30 minutes, and 30 seconds to complete. Lindbergh was too wired to sleep the night prior to the flight and had been awake for over 50 hours by the time he landed in Paris. At times he buzzed the chilly surface of the Northern Atlantic in the hopes that the sea spray would keep him awake. He was eventually forced
above 10,000 feet for 10 hours in order to avoid a run of rain, sleet and fog. Utilizing dead reckoning and an earth induction compass Lindbergh, hit the Irish coast within three miles of his target. The Spirit of St. Louis burned 12 gallons per hour on the journey. The purpose-built aircraft carried 451 gallons. Fifty remained in Paris. Lindbergh could have continued to Frankfurt with an hour to spare.
The Wright Flyer cost less than $1,000 to construct (this was only for parts; the labor was provided gratis by the Wright brothers). The Spirit of Saint Louis cost $10,580 to con- struct. In 2021 dollars that is $30,000 and $160,000 respectively. The cost to make aviation history has rapidly
escalated to the current era’s billionaires club. In the beginning, guile and ingenuity were enough.
A myriad of other names populates the history of aviation. Amelia Earhart would follow in Lindbergh’s footsteps across the Atlantic a year later as something of a publicity stunt. “[Wilmer] Stultz did all the f lying...I was just baggage, like a sack of potatoes,” Earhart
would confess. A few years later (in 1932), she would “hop the pond” all by herself. In 1935, Earhart flew solo from Hawaii to the U.S. mainland. The flight was 900 miles longer than Lindbergh’s famous run across the Atlantic. Ten people had already died attempting the feat. Earhart was not simply the first woman to complete the flight. She was the first pilot to do so.
Less famous was Florence Lowe. Raised in the shadow of a 24,000 square foot mansion in Pasadena’s Millionaire’s Row, she would marry respectably in 1919 to the Reverend C. Rankin Barnes (whose parish re- ceived a Bell Tower as a dowry). It was perhaps the last respectable thing Florence would do. She adopted the name “Pancho” during a stint south of the border (a better name for a woman running from arms dealers disguised as a man). Pancho Barnes would
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October 2021 / TWIN & TURBINE • 9