| |
 |
The morning was ideal, calm and as perfect as could be desired for an aeroplane flight, and with the engine thundering, and the propeller whirling around at a terrific speed, I gave the signal to "let go." |
The New Sport of Flying
By Philip W. Wilcox
From an article in Country Life in America, Mid-January, 1911, Page 265
The first question which an interested spectator usually puts to an aviator is, "What are your sensations while flying?"
This is the most difficult question to answer, principally because of the absolute lack of any other sensation with which to compare it.
There is the sensation of unlimited space and freedom, which is never more impressive than during an aeroplane flight. Space seems to be without limit as the machine plunges up and down at the will of the operator. The sweeping from side to side at the slightest movement of the rudders; the tipping sidewise of the planes at every cross current and gust of wind, and finally the variation of the forward velocity of the machine, as it goes up or down, all add to this sensation.
The aviator must be constantly on the alert to control all of these possible motions, for to neglect any one of them may mean destruction to the machine and death to the operator.
The aeroplane might well be called a thing of four dimensions, for the operator must, as already stated, absolutely at all times control the four possible motions, and to do this requires more than a mere knowledge of how to operate the rudders. There was where my first great mistake was made.
To control properly an aeroplane in flight requires an instinctive knowledge of the operation of the rudders, and a very delicate sense of balance, which can be obtained only by long and patient practice.
After working hard for over two years, studying, designing, and building an aeroplane, I considered that my knowledge of the subject was sufficient to warrant going up into the air immediately, without the preliminary running on the ground, which constitutes the usual practice; and so, with absolute confidence in the machine and myself, I took the operators seat for the first time, and bade the mechanician (sp) start the motor.
The morning was ideal, calm and as perfect as could be desired for an aeroplane flight, and with the engine thundering, and the propeller whirling around at a terrific speed, I gave the signal to "let go." The machine darted away from the mechanician like some wild creature released from captivity. One hundred, two, three hundred feet the machine raced along the ground, and fearing that it would dig its nose into the earth, I turned the elevating rudder slightly up. Immediately I shot into the air, like a projectile thrown from a catapult, and rose to about fifty feet, before I could finally realize that I was really flying. There was never any feat that the machine would refuse to rise, but the realization was so totally different from what I had imagined, that it seemed more like a dream than reality, and I rose to a considerable height before I appreciated the danger. Besides, it seemed so easy to ascend that I couldn’t resist the temptation to go higher, and soon reached an altitude of about one hundred feet.
Now came the perplexing question of how to get down again.
Up to that time I was so filled with astonishment, that my only idea was to get up, but by this time I was high over the fence of the Motor Parkway, and rushing through space at the rate of fifty miles an hour. The return became a very serious consideration. If I descended I would be on the wrong side of the fence, and in very bad ground for a first landing, so that I decided to attempt to turn.
In watching other aviators, I had noticed them banking, or tilting the machine to the side on which they were turning, and so I operated my ailerons in order to tilt the machine. The machine responded with a sudden and unexpected promptness, and in my intense ignorance, I made about the shortest turn ever made on the field, but fortunately got around safely.
On the homeward journey the machine began to wabble somewhat, and fearing that I was getting too high, I decided to come back down. Here again my lack of practice asserted itself and I came down with an alarming velocity, and fearing to hit the earth again, I turned the elevating rudder up, and shot high into the air. Had I have been an experienced aviator, my exhibition of dips and rises would have caused a great deal of admiration, but as a matter of fact, some friends who were watching me, said that they nearly died of heart failure – a complaint which I shared with them to the fullest extent!
By this time we were approaching the hangers, and the time when I absolutely must come down. There was no getting away from the fact and I made up my mind to do it somehow: so I shut off my engine and determined to take a chance. At the time I was about fifty feet in the air, and as soon as the engine stopped, the machine started to ascend at an alarming rate. This was due, as I afterward learned, to the draught of air from the propeller stopping and allowing the tail to drop, thus tilting the planes up and causing the whole machine to rise. The way that I turned the elevating rudder down was a caution. I would have turned it down further, but it wouldn’t go any further, which was a good thing for me, for down I came at a terrific speed. Just as I was about to hit the ground, I again set the rudder to go up. The machine started to turn, and the tail hit the ground with a fearful whack, and settled with a slight jolt, but not hard enough to do any great amount of damage.
My surprise at being safely on the ground once more equaled that of my going up, but my joy was indescribable. I got out of the machine like a drunken man, and started to hug the first being that I came across, which luckily happened to be my mechanician. I danced with joy, but all of my enthusiasm and all the money of Croesus would not have persuaded me to get into the machine again that day.
The strain on the nerves had been tremendous, and although everything had turned out about as expected, the suddenness with which things took place was most alarming.
As before stated, the weather conditions were perfect, and that is no doubt what saved me from breaking my neck. I had plenty of time to think when anything happened, and could correct it before anything went wrong. It was a case of having the knowledge of how to operate, without the instinct. When the machine tilted it moved so slowly that I could first realize what was happening, and then think how to correct it and act accordingly.
Later on during another flight, when the wind was blowing in gusts, I discovered to my dismay the absolute necessity of the instinctive knowledge. When about fifty feet in the air a gust of wind caught and almost turned me over before I could remedy the trouble. When I had corrected one thing, other things happed so fast that I fell to the ground before I knew what was wrong. It was a case where all four things happened simultaneously; it began with losing momentum by rising too abruptly, so that when the gust of wind struck, and caused the machine to dip, I was going too slowly for the ailerons to act promptly. Instead of raising the lower side, it caused me to turn to that side still further, retarding my speed, so that before I realized it the ‘plane was pointed almost vertically downward, and hit the ground with terrific force.
The time in which all of this occurred could not have been more than two seconds, yet in that time all four conditions prevailed, and I had the instinctive knowledge of how to cope with them, I might have avoided the wreck of a valuable machine and great danger to my life.
Philip W. Wilcox
In the cold spring winds of April 1908, the students of Columbia University saw the future slowly rise before their eyes in the laboratory of a engineering professor on the campus of this quitesential American university. Inside the laboratory, undergraduate and graduate students worked hard at spending $500 dollars by assembling one of the first flying machines which were then being developed in Europe and legitimized by the public relations efforts of the Aero Club of America. Club President, "Lying King" Henry Woodhouse, was the point man in what became the nacent Air National Guard of the United States, now the 9th largest air force in the world, but then consisting of a single engine, unflown bi-plane in the upper reaches of Manhattan known as Morningside Heights. Today, the unit is still found in New York State, but 90 miles east of Manhattan on the end of Long Island in Westhampton Beach, its home since 1975. In these 99 years many people have been affiliated with this famous unit. This site is dedicated to them.
|
