Written by Staff | 24 September 2012

Cole Palen's Flying Circus - DVD

 

“Cole Palen’s Flying Circus” is now available in DVD format at Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome gift shops for $19.95.  This 52-minute documentary was originally produced in 1987 in VHS format. You may have seen it broadcast on the History Channel, National Geo­graphic and several PBS broadcasts around the country.  This classic chronicles the early days of the aerodrome and has rare footage of the late Cole Palen and several of his cronies…Like Stan Segalla (The Flying Farmer) Bill and Dick King, Dave Fox, Bill Hammond and show characters in action such as Sir Percy Goodfel­low, Trudy Truelove and the Back Baron of Rhinebeck. Check our online gift shop

 

Written by Staff | 04 September 2012

The Pitcairn Mailwing

By

Robert G. Waldvogel

 

Born on December 20, 1897 in Bryn Athyn, Pennsylvania, Harold F. Pitcairn left his imprint on early fixed-wing, autogiro, and rotary-wing aviation, as well as having spawned one of the country’s major airlines, and the present Naval Air Station Willow Grove marks the spot where all of it began.

Like so many aviation-minded inventors, Pitcairn, both an engineer and a pilot, was infused with, and therefore enthused by, that elusively definable spirit, soul, or substance which draws a person to the sky.  So enticing was it, in fact, that it propelled him through the unresolved obstacles of getting there.

Also like them, it initially manifested itself as tiny, child’s hands transforming seemingly unaerodynamic materials into flyable model airplanes at a time when the real counterparts they attempted to emulate had yet to exist.

But air-minded people often have approaches as unique as their personalities, and his was to ultimately design what he considered the “Safe Airplane,” or an aerial, car-counterpart that would enable his opposites—unairminded people—to get in and fly to wherever they needed to go.

Perhaps propelled by pain toward that goal, he was emptied of his emotions when, early in life, he lost both his mother and sister and therefore filed this void with his interests.

He continually kept abreast of aeronautical development and those inventors who all-too-often met their fates trying to attain it.  Indeed, while his classmates played games and sports, he “played” aerodynamics, experimenting with airfoil shapes and attaching them to models.

As with many disciplines, students learned from their masters.  In this case, Glenn Curtiss served as the latter, and Harold Pitcairn, following his father’s advice, became his apprentice, learning aircraft construction techniques in Hammondsport before attending his Newport News, Virginia, flying school in 1916 to become a pilot.

Establishing Pitcairn Aviation in 1924 to transform the Bryn Athyn cow pasture he had purchased into an airfield next to his own farm, he plowed a 2,000-foot runway and constructed a hangar.  Offering flight instruction, sightseeing, contract flying, and 200- to 300-mile charter flights, he acquired an initial, eight-aircraft fleet, comprised of his own Farman Sport; a Standard Trainer; two British, enclosed-cabin Martinsyde biplanes; and four Curtiss Orioles, attracting 20,000 spectators to the field’s official opening and air show.

Drawing upon his earlier business studies, he realized that the sightseeing revenue earned from the two-passenger Orioles could be doubled if he designed his own aircraft with a forward, four-place cockpit, and from the field’s hangar, which soon became the Pitcairn Aircraft Factory, emerged the PA-1 Fleetwing.

Powered by a 160-hp Curtiss C-6 engine turning at 1,750 rpm, the 25.11-foot biplane incorporated Pitcairn’s very mark of design integrity with a robust chrome molybdenum, square-section steel tubing fuselage faired by a wooden frame and covered with fabric.  Three cockpits, accessed by a port side integral ladder and featuring individual passenger windshields, consisted of the two, two-person forward ones and the aft, single-pilot location.  The aircraft, with a 2,879-pound maximum weight, could cruise at 80 mph.

Yet this advanced aerodynamic package was quickly unwrapped when its wing dipped to the left seconds after take off on its maiden flight.  Despite attempts to correct the deviation, it only worsened, leaving the pilot with the hopeless choice of climbing in order to avoid the eagerly observing crowd.  Although the inevitable stall resulted in impact with the ground and a pile of shards, he survived and the cause was traced to inversely rigged aileron cables.

A second, and successful, Fleetwing followed.

Pitcairn had, at last, reached the sky, establishing Pitcairn Aircraft to design, manufacture, and sell his own airplanes; Pitcairn Aviation, to operate the airfield and conduct flight operations; and Pitcairn Aeronautics, to engage in rotary-wing design, experimentation, and patenting.

Fixed- and rotary-wing production remained in Bryn Athyn, while commercial flight operations were relocated to a larger field ten miles away in Willow Grove.

Integral to this expansion plan was exposure, and its key, concluded Pitcairn, was a second aircraft design he could enter in the pending National Air Races, to be held in conjunction with the Sesqui-Centennial Celebration.

In order to partake of both its speed and efficiency events, he proposed a single, multi-purpose platform whose common mount would equally accept the 90-hp OX-5 and 160-hp C-6 engines, designated the PA-2 Sesqui-Wing after the very event.  Sporting a 22.10-foot overall length, the 2,092-pound biplane racer, appearing in 1926, could cruise at 96 mph and attain maximum 120-mph speeds with the OX-5 powerplant and 116- and 145-mph speeds, respectively, with the C-6, in which case it had a 2,218-pound gross weight.

Following the efficiency course, the PA-2 was retrofitted with the more powerful C-6 engine with the aid of a specially constructed engine stand before it flew the closed, 100-mile circuit, winning both the prize and the Pitcairn coveted publicity.

As predicted, demand for aircraft orders, increasing as a result of air race notoriety, and factory space dictating, single-type production, resulted in a hybrid design to succeed the PA-2.  Designated PA-3 Oriowing, and quickly considered the Piper Cub of its day, it retained the square-tube fuselage construction of its predecessor, but was mated with the elsewhere-manufactured Oriole wings and Curtiss OX-5 engines, resulting in a three-place, 2,100-pound trainer.  It was Pitcairn’s first financially successful design.

Ever cognizant of the latest aviation developments, he set his sights on the growing air mail network, presently comprised of 13 Contract Air Mail (CAM) routes, and he once again dug into his business foundation to analyze the benefit of bidding for the 760-mile one from New York to Atlanta, one of four new networks announced by the Postmaster General.  Studying existing train schedules, rail and air journey times, and mail weights and volumes, he decided that it would fit his operation like a glove.

The award, however, carried several stipulations.  Because the Post Office’s eastern terminus was located at Hadley Field, in New Jersey, its “New York” point would be served by that New Brunswick city, and operations could only occur after official banking hours, resulting in the additional obstacle of night flying.  The route, furthermore, would only be granted for a four-year period and was then subjected to rebidding.

Yet these obstacles were minuscule in comparison to the true holes in the operation: aside from a handful of unprepared, muddy fields along the eastern seaboard, there were no real airports nor any air mail-specific airplanes to fly to them—not to mention the lack of pilots to take them into the black, navigation aid devoid skies.  But Pitcairn, always solving his problems with self-sufficiency and ingenuity fueled solutions, wanted this prize.

The lack of aircraft proved the smallest gap to be plugged.  Like any aeronautical tailor, as already proven several times before, he could stitch a route- and mission-fitting suit, designing and building an airplane that would meet its targeted size and performance parameters more precisely and at lower cost, than any off-the-rack one.  The intended air mail design was optimized for single-pilot accommodation, a 250-pound mail load, a 100-mph speed, and a 500-mile range, the latter of which was sufficient to enable an aircraft to return to one of its intermediate stops in the event of deteriorating weather conditions.

The idealized design, based upon the original PA-1 Fleetwing, was granted its type approval in 1927 and designated the PA-4 Super Fleetwing or Fleetwing II.  Featuring the multiple-engine mount, it sported a 30-foot lower and 33-foot upper wing, the latter of which omitted its predecessor’s dihedral, and the formerly boxy fuselage was replaced with a sleeker, more aerodynamic one.  The aft pilot cockpit was retained, but the forward one introduced an enclosed mail compartment.  The 1,950-pound biplane could carry a 340-pound payload.

Yet incorporating reserve capacity, it could, with modifications, carry 500-pound loads and operate 600-mile sectors, and this potential enabled Pitcairn to produce the definitive model, the PA-5 Mailwing, which proved pivotal to the envisioned, and received, Contract Air Mail Route 19 on January 28, 1927.

Retaining the PA-4’s wingspan and 252-square-foot area, it introduced a 26-cubic-foot mail compartment, capable of carrying 500 pounds and positioned so that its center-of-gravity fostered longitudinal stability.  But its major improvement was its entirely more capable, 220-hp Wright Whirlwind J5-9 radial engine.  Stretching 21 feet, 10.5 inches, it had 1,612 empty and 2,620-pound maximum gross weights, and was able to climb at 100 fpm and attain 131-mph speeds.

First rolled out of its Bryn Athyn factory and flown in June of 1927, the aircraft completed a highly successful maiden flight.  “As the exuberant pilot (Chief Pitcairn Pilot Jim Ray) pirouetted and soared against a background of fluffy white clouds, the golden wings flashed the sun’s rays again and again, signaling the design’s success,” according to Frank Kingston Smith in his book, Legacy of Wings: The Harold F. Pitcairn Story (Jason Aronson, 1981).  “It was light on the controls, full of heart, it climbed like a skyrocket,” the pilot proclaimed after landing.

It was not the only element in Pitcairn’s ever-expanding and successful aeronautical empire.  Willow Grove-located Pitcairn Field #2 had grown into the largest commercial facility east of the Mississippi River the previous year and Pitcairn Aviation had counted almost 125 flight students on its roster and had flown more than 16,000 sightseers from it during that time.

A premature decision to cease Mailwing production after Pitcairn Aviation’s needs had been met, despite the dissuading tactic of increasing the per-airplane price to $12,000, was subsequently reversed when orders poured in, and the revenue aided the company in its solvency pursuit.  Indeed, so tailor made had it been, that it became the standard airmail type operated by 12 US and Canadian carriers, including Colonial Airlines and American Airways, forerunner of American Airlines.

But Pitcairn never rested longer than it took to make a refueling stop.  Although his passion and unquenchable thirst had, at times, caused him to stretch the company’s financial fabric so thin that only a thread remained to hold it together, a second airmail route, or CAM 25, was opened for bidding, and he was compelled to pursue it.

Integrated with his existing, New York-Atlanta run, the southern section, from Atlanta to Miami, promised lucrative mail volumes, and he deliberately submitted a below-cost bid for it, precluding acceptance of any other’s.  His tactic bore fruit: on November 19, 1927, he was awarded it.

Inaugurating the earlier CAM 19 route, Pitcairn dispatched the northbound Mailwing from Atlanta’s Candler Field on May 1, 1928, while the reciprocal service departed New Brunswick’s Hadley Field, making enroute stops in Richmond, Greensboro, and Spantanburg, before alighting in Georgia.  Both carried three-fourths of a ton of mail.

Because of its design integrity, reliability, and performance, the PA-5 Mailwing hardly signaled the end of the line; indeed, it was just the beginning of it.  Unexpected interest from both sport and private pilots led to the Sport Mailwing version, which featured a comfortable, dual-passenger forward cockpit in place of the mail compartment.

But demand for increased mail and, in some cases, passenger capacity from now-established carriers quickly eclipsed the basic PA-5’s size.  Passengers, particularly, had up until now been excluded from any air system because they had failed to generate sufficient revenue without accompanying mail subsidies.  But expanding route networks, coupled with increasing reliability, had unearthed demand on routes where there was no comparable rail service, and the more heavily traveled Los Angeles-San Francisco corridor had given rise to passenger airlines which relied on specifically designed, ten-seat Fokker triplanes.

Targeting this sector of the evolving industry, the Pitcairn PA-6 Super Mailwing of 1928 employed the same lift and thrust foundation as that of its PA-5 predecessor, but introduced a one-foot longer fuselage and an increased mail capacity—from 21.5 to 40 cubic feet.  The aircraft became associated with several then-significant carriers—Colonial Air Transport, Colonial Western, Canadian Colonial, and National Air Transport among them.

For the second time in his career, Pitcairn inaugurated airmail service, connecting Contract Air Mail Route 25 with its existing 19 system on December 1, 1928 and, in effect, monopolistically creating the country’s longest north-south network, which stretched 1,500 miles from New York to Miami.  It was subsequently appendaged to an inter-Florida spur line encompassing Jacksonville, Daytona Beach, and Tampa.

Post Office Department figures, released in January of 1929, revealed the true size of Pitcairn’s aerial empire.  It had become the third-largest airline in terms of miles flown and the fourth largest in terms of revenue.

Demand for mail carriage could only be met by the next, stretched-fuselage Mailwing version, the PA-7M Super Mailwing.

Powered by a 240-hp Wright J6-7 engine, it featured a new, 23.9-foot length, 42-cubic-foot mail compartment, 636-pound payload capability, and 3,050-pound gross weight.  First rolled out in 1929, it could attain 120-mph cruise and 145-mph maximum speeds.

The definitive version, the PA-8M Super Mailwing, seemed more the product of steroids than slide rules: a 24.10-foot overall length, a 35-foot upper wingspan, a 55-cubic-foot mail compartment, a 300-hp Wright J6-9 or Pratt and Whitney Wasp Junior engine, a 1,000-pound payload, and a 4,000-pound maximum weight.  But it also signaled the end of the line, in more ways than one.

All lives, whether personal or professional, ultimately lead to forks in the road, and it was at this time that Harold Pitcairn arrived at his.  Despite his expanding and profitable airmail venture—and the fleet he had optimized for it—he returned to his original passion of creating rotary-wing aircraft.

Yet, because of his airline’s very success, and the increasing trend toward passenger-exclusive, mail subsidy independent services, it had been continually targeted for a buyout or a merger, and the Curtiss-Keys Group, chewing on the concept until it could taste it, ultimately succeeded in swallowing Pitcairn Aviation on June 12, 1929.  Assuming its coveted, New York-Florida airmail routes, systemwide airport infrastructure, and personnel, it equally purchased the only six PA-8Ms ever made, displaying the founding Pitcairn name on its aircraft until 1930, at which time it was rebranded Eastern Air Transport.

Despite the superlative, super-stretch characteristics of the PA-8M, the passenger transport trend, once set in motion, was unarrestable and quickly outgrew its capacity, indicating that its early-era lineage had been eclipsed by the needs of burgeoning traffic.  Instead, it had no choice but to pass the torch to the next generation of specifically designed cabin aircraft, and toward that end, it was quickly replaced with larger equipment on the increasing number of scheduled air routes.   Nevertheless, it served to mark the transition between the single-engine, open-cockpit barnstorming types and the commercial, profit-generating breed of airliners.

After the Army’s disastrous, albeit temporary, assumption of mail-carrying duties and the call for civil operators to replace them, Eastern Air Transport, renamed “Eastern Airlines,” was re-awarded the original, New York-Miami Pitcairn routes and these became synonymous with it throughout its six-decade existence as one of the country’s major carriers.

Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome’s Mailwing, a PA-7, had taken part of its air shows between 1963 and 1980, and is currently on static display in the Golden Age museum building on the hill.

 

Written by Staff | 17 August 2012

Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome Celebrates its New York Aviation Roots

By

Robert G. Waldvogel

 

“Our next aircraft—because it’s New York State Aviation Day—is the Curtiss Model D Pusher, built right here in Hammondsport, New York,” announced Jim Hare on that hot, August 12, 2012, day, as the yellow biplane taxied across the lightly wind-swept grass field beneath a canvas brushed with dabs of cumulous at Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome.

Recounting his numerous contributions, Jim concluded, “Glenn Curtiss—New York State’s aviation hero!”

Yet, it was on this day that the aerodrome showcased many of New York’s aviation contributions, celebrating roots that ultimately became its own.

“The relevance of this weekend is to showcase that portion of our collection which pays homage to New York State,” said Neill Herman, Old Rhinebeck’s Air Show President.  “From Lindbergh’s famous transatlantic flight to the contributions of Curtiss, New York—being a big trade capital at the time—played a major role as a hub of aviation development.  Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome is a focal point of tourism for New York State and we have a particular interest in showcasing New York’s contributions.”

Many of these “contributions,” however, can be gleaned from the aircraft displayed in its museum buildings located across Norton Road from the airfield and up the hill.

The Thomas Model E Pusher, for instance, is one of them.  Suspended from the ceiling of the Pioneer Building, this century-old design, sporting its fabric-covered sesqui biplane wings, dual-wheeled undercarriage, aft-mounted wooden propeller, and forward-protruding spruce skids appears as if it were making an approach to the movie set of Those Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines.

Brainchild of W. T. Thomas, an Englishman who had emigrated to the US and established his own aircraft company in Bath, New York, with his brother, Oliver, it offers features that are traceable to those of Curtiss, with which he had initial experience in Hammondsport.  Experimenting with his own Curtiss-like machine in 1908, W. T. Thomas produced the Model E Pusher during the winter of 1909 to 1910, and, piloted by Walter Johnson, it partook of exhibitions in 1911.  A refined version appeared the following year, only a decade after the Wright Brothers had first flown at Kitty Hawk.

According to the sign under the aircraft in the Pioneer Building, “This aircraft is one of 12 manufactured by W. T. Thomas, Bath, New York.  It was his second design and in November of 1912 an aircraft of this type established the two-place world’s endurance record, flying for three hours, 52 minutes.”

It hardly began that way.

“The Pusher was a gift from Owen Billman,” said Jim Hare.  “It was found in a barn up in central New York (and was once owned by pioneer pilot Earl Frits).  The wings were being used to protect tomato plants from the cold.”

Cole Palen, having been endowed with that elusively-defined ability to take the remaining atom of an airframe and transform it into a full-fledged flying machine, proceeded to do so with the Model E, repackaging scraps, parts, and pieces into a vehicle that would later take him aloft in his official “aircraft factory” normally designated a “living room.”

But, part of that sixth sense hinged upon authenticity and nothing could have ensured it more than a personal visit with its builder, W. T. Thomas himself, who by then had been residing in Florida.

“He actually met Thomas in Florida and went down with Mike Lockhart, the first aerodrome kid here,” continued Jim.

Beyond Cole’s expectations, he was given access to Thomas’s personal files, whose xeroxed copies enabled him to reproduce the airplane in Rhinebeck with redundant accuracy.

Yet, because of his insistence upon authenticity, the aircraft which took shape clearly reflected its Curtiss control-inspired lineage, itself powered by a 90-hp Curtiss OX-5 engine.

“(It was) an awkward machine to fly…because its controls did not follow the standard system,” according to Gordon Bainbridge in his book, The Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome (Exposition Press, 1977), and caused one “to reverse one’s trained flight reflexes to control the ship.”  A wheel-mounted rocking post, for instance, actuated the dual-tailed rudders, while an aileron-connected seat enabled the pilot to bank.  The throttle took the form of a foot pedal.

Although the wheel’s forward and aft movement deflected the elevator and therefore provided the only semblance of conventional control, it resulted in “Cole confusion,” according to Bainbridge, as he continually made the right inputs into the wrong controls and sustained two damage-producing, repair-requiring mishaps before he successfully surmounted the sky in another of his hand-to-air transformations.

After 15 minutes aloft, the Thomas Pusher announced its approach through the “throb of (its) laboring engine,” again according to Bainbridge.  “The sight was awe-inspiring as the sun danced momentarily on the great expanse of the biplane’s varnished wings, and, as if etched against the clouds, the primitive craft…land(ed) like some huge predatory bird out of the past.”

Although Cole had shared the construction and test flying process with his team of Palen Passion Followers, he had been particularly secretive about its purpose, which he initially only revealed as a flight from the aerodrome to New York.

“(It was) for the purpose of appearing on the TV show, I’ve Got a Secret,” said Jim.

Embarking on this journey in a more than half a century old design with less than standard controls, and attempting to cover half the distance that Curtiss had in his Albany Flyer, he could have been re-enacting part of that Albany-to-New York flight when he lifted off of the aerodrome on April 23, 1965.  But, perhaps he pushed the Pusher too far: a cracked brass fitting, caused by excessive vibration, resulted in a premature landing at Stormville Airport, 30 miles away.

Despite blustery conditions and frigid temperatures aloft the following day, never-paling, no-problem Palen bridged the gap between Stomville and Armonk and completed his flight plan on the third day.

Crossing the Whitestone Bridge in the biplane, he had, in many ways, returned to his and Old Rhinebeck’s roots, since it had been the same bridge he had crossed 15 years earlier by road, pulling the still-lifeless airframes that would ultimately become its initial fleet behind him.

Landing at Flushing Airport, the airplane signified a full-cycle return, representing the time warp which Cole Palen had created in the mid-Hudson Valley and from which it seemed to have escaped.

Shipped to Manhattan, it and its pilot appeared on the television show.

After flying for two years at the aerodrome, it was relegated to its present static display status in the Pioneer Building.

Another New York design, marking the transition from Thomas to Thomas-Morse, and from pusher to tractor, is located in the History of Flight Building and takes form as the Scout.

After supplying two seaplanes to the Navy and a single land plane to the Signal Corps in 1915, the Thomas Brothers had merged with the Morse Chain Company two years later, relocating to Ithaca, its own base, and redesignated the Thomas-Morse Corporation.

Entrusted with the design of US-indigenous fighters to avoid reliance on existing European types, it was appointed the task of producing a single-seat, but superior counterpart to the SPAD in the spring of 1918.

The 3-POLB—“three-place open land biplane”--Thomas S-4, designed by B. Douglas Thomas in 1916 before the Morse merger, demonstrated less than adequate performance to the Army when it flew in prototype form, but it fit military trainer needs like a glove and 100 of the type, dubbed the S-4B, were ordered.  Identical to the prototype, they featured shorter fuselages.

Powered by a nine-cylinder, 100-hp, Gnome Monosaupape 9-B rotary engine partially enclosed by a circular, open-fronted cowling, the S-4B Scout sported a wooden, wire-braced, fabric-covered box girder fuselage and equally constructed biplane wings, the lower of which was mounted with dihedral.  Single-bay interplane struts connected the two.  Ailerons, located on the upper plane, were actuated by means of vertical rods.  It rested on single, rubber cord-sprung wheels attached to wooden Vee struts.

According to the plaque next to the 80-hp Le Rhone engined S-4B in the History of Flight Building, “An American effort to produce a fighter type for the Great War, it became our advanced pursuit trainer.  This example is the last of 100 S-4Bs.  S-4Cs followed.  There were 497 manufactured.”

Built in 1917, Old Rhinebeck’s example was originally employed as a pilot trainer by the Signal Corps before being acquired by Frank Sharpless of Wisconsin and ceded to several subsequent owners.  It had, for a while, been stored in a hayloft.  Between 1963 and 1973, it had been on display at the United States Air Force Museum in Dayton, Ohio.

Acquired form the Woodward Estate set up by owner Dwight Woodward’s wife after his passing, it joined the air show circuit before it was retired.

“The Scout is one of my favorites,” said Neill.  “There’s been talk about restoring it and flying it again.  It’s an original and we’re proud of that.”

The succeeding S-4C, incorporating modifications based upon the Nieuport 17 specifically sent to the Thomas-Morse factory in Ithaca to study, featured a 19.10-foot overall length and shorter wings, spanning 26.6 and 25.6 feet, respectively, and straight--as opposed to the previously swept-back--aileron trailing edges.  They were deflected by means of push rod and torque tube actuators.

Powered by a nine-cylinder, 80-hp Le Rhone 9-C rotary engine, the aircraft had a 1,354-pound gross weight and could attain 100-mph speeds at sea level and 15,000-foot service ceilings.  Armament consisted of either a 0.30-inch Marlin machine gun or a camera gun.

Pilot nicknamed the “Tommy,” it was considered one of the best US-designed World War I trainers and was used by almost all pursuit flying schools in 1918.

“The Scout never saw much (fighting) action,” said Neill, “but the progress its design made was remarkable and it made a significant contribution (as a trainer).”

“(Here at Old Rhinebeck), the Scout wasn’t very controllable on the ground,” said Bill King, long-time aerodrome pilot who is virtually synonymous with the Hanriot he flew.  “It was so heavy in the tail that it only flew a couple of seasons.  But it’s a great example of an original World War I airplane.”

Yet another example of a New York-indigenous design in the Old Rhinebeck collection is the Brunner-Winkle Model CK Bird in the Golden Age Building.

Its manufacturer, the Brunner-Winkle Company, was founded by William Winkle, who served as its president, and Joseph Brunner, who was its secretary, in 1928, two years after it had first planted its roots in Long Island soil as the Royal Aircraft Factory at Roosevelt Field in Garden City.  Its new base became 12 Haverkamp Street in Glendale, Queens.

The aircraft itself, designed by Michael Gregor, was intended as a three-place, open-cockpit biplane with superior performance, powered by then-plentiful, inexpensive surplus eight-cylinder, water-cooled, 90-hp Curtiss OX-5 engines.

Featuring a steel tubing fuselage, which rendered a 34-foot length, and wooden framed sesqui wings, whose span totaled 22.3 feet, it otherwise employed fabric covering.  The cabinetmaker assembled wings themselves produced the type’s performance because the upper one’s area was almost twice that of the lower’s, enabling it to take off in 100 feet during no-wind conditions, climb out at 40 mph, and offer admirable slow-speed handling characteristics, yet cruise at 80.

Its passenger cockpit, forward of the pilot’s, facilitated weight and balance, since varying loads were always placed in line with the wings’ center of lift.

Its construction process entailed trucking its fuselage, wings, and tail surfaces from Glendale to the Clinton Avenue side of Roosevelt Field, location of Brunner-Winkle’s final assembly hangar, before each airplane was test flown and delivered to its respective customer.

It was considered the best of the then-current OX-5 powered aircraft.

“It wasn’t quite as popular as the Wacos and Travelairs," said Jim.  “But it was a great short-field plane.  It has a sesqui wing—very advanced for its time.  They changed the OX-5 for the Kinner engine, and its performance improved even more.”

Reducing its reliance on the increasingly scarce Curtiss OX-5 powerplant, Brunner-Winkle succeeded the Model A with the Model B in 1929, powered by the five-cylinder, air-cooled, 100-hp Kinner K-5, the engine itself offered to satisfy the burgeoning aviation industry’s demand.

“In 1931, 42 of this type of aircraft were manufactured,” according to the plaque next to the Model B at Old Rhinebeck.  “This aircraft was a popular barnstorming plane of the period, capable of carrying three passengers at a time.  It barnstormed here at Old Rhinebeck for many years.”

“It was Old Rhinebeck’s first rides-plane,” said Jim.

Several feats established the Bird’s fame.

According to The Brunner-Winkle BIRD article written by John Talmage, “Charles Lindbergh taught Anne Morrow Lindbergh to fly in a Bird at the Long Island Aviation Country Club in Hicksville…He chose (it)…because he knew what a fine, dependable, and honestly behaved craft it was, and he wanted the very best in which to teach (his wife).”  She subsequently soloed in it at the same club.

Elinor Smith set a new world endurance record for women in 1929, remaining aloft in one over Roosevelt Field for more than 13 hours, while two of the type finished in sixth and seventh places in the 1931 National Air Tour, having averaged 100 mph.

Restoration of Old Rhinebeck’s example, begun by Nick Kucki of Chicago during the 1960s, was handed off to H. N. “Dusty” Rhodes when it had reached the 80-percent completion level, and he opened the curtain on Nebraska’s Centennial Celebration after he had re-enacted the first night airmail flight with it on February 22, 1967, braving snow, 12-degree temperatures, and loss of an engine cylinder.

Draped in a dark yellow paint scheme with red-trimmed wing leading edges, it sports the notations on its fuselage sides: “First night air mail flight—2-22-21.  Nebraska Centennial re-enactment—2-22-67.”

Flying it “home” from that state to Cole’s after he had acquired it, he was forced to make an emergency landing at a military air base just short of it.

Consumed, like so many other airplane companies, by Depression’s bite, Brunner-Winkle was forced to close its hangar doors in 1931 after some 200 Model A and B Birds had flown into the wild through them.

“(Nevertheless), the Bird was a proud creation of Long Islanders,” according to the Talmage article, “and its reputation, wherever it flew…said volumes about what the people of Long Island were to the aviation world.”

It is from those Long Island—and specifically Roosevelt Field—roots that Old Rhinebeck grew from the six seedlings Cole Palen had cultivated into the current six dozen in the collection, and with which the aerodrome had been able to celebrate those New York aviation roots, along with its own, on this August day.

 

 

Written by Staff | 09 August 2012

 

Focus on Fokker at Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome

By

Robert G. Waldvogel

 

Old Rhinebeck's Fokker D.VII

 

A pair of World War I aircraft, sharing a common manufacturer, but differing in their number of wings, took center stage at Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome’s July 2012 “Meet the Fokkers” event, baking beneath the breathless blue whose still air would not have flickered a candle’s flame, but whose temperature was as high as it.

The sign posted at the covered bridge entrance, as always, advised, “No where else in the world can you see aircraft of this type at such close range.”  The post-air show event would accomplish more than that, as visitors would be welcomed to hear narratives from aerodrome pilots and inspect cockpits to enable them to get in touch with the Dutch—or at least with the psyche of the man who had been behind the designs.

“We’re showcasing the contributions of Anthony Fokker today,” said Neill Herman, Old Rhinebeck Air Show President, “and we have two representative D.V11s—which were excellent fighters—and a Dr.1 made famous by Baron von Richthofen and his flying aces.  Still thriving today, Fokker is one of the threads to the fabric of aviation’s past.”

Establishing an aviation company in Wiesbaden, Germany, Anthony Fokker himself sold the third version of his aircraft, the Spin III, to the German Military in 1913.  As a seed, it sprouted into a series of highly successful World War I fighters.  During the 1970s and 1980s, now focusing on the commercial aviation sector, the company that bore his name produced a pair of regional airliners, which included the turboprop F.27 Friendship and the pure-jet F.28 Fellowship, and they were followed by their modernized counterparts, the F.50 and the F.70/100, respectively.

Although fierce competition from other, much larger aircraft manufacturers and economic circumstances ultimately precluded airframe production after 1996, the company continues today as Fokker Technologies, focusing on components and services.

It is most known, however, for its World War I aircraft, four of which count in the Old Rhinebeck collection and represent three different configurations—mono-, bi-, and triplanes—as expressed by their very designations.

The Eindecker E.III, for instance (German for “monoplane”), established Fokker Flugzeug-Werke as a significant provider of innovative, high-performance designs, which enabled their pilots to emerge victorious and alive, and their opponents to suffer the opposite fates.

Based upon the Fokker M5, and significantly influenced by the Morane-Saulnier Type H, the E series took low-wing, monoplane form when a Morane-Saulnier Type L, piloted by Roland Garros, was captured in 1915 and enabled Fokker engineers to inspect, and then replicate, its forward-facing, 7.92-mm Spandau machine gun.

Employing a synchronization gear mechanism, it allowed a pilot, through an interrupter, to fire bullets through the propeller arc without actually hitting the blades.

Production of the E.1, numbering 68, led to its E.II successor and an even smaller batch, of 50 aircraft, because the performance erosion created by its smaller wing could not be adequately counteracted by its 100-hp Oberursel engine.  But the definitive E.III version--with a 1,400-pound gross weight, 83-mph maximum speed at 6,500 feet, and 11,500-foot service ceiling--saw significant action on the Western Front from mid-1915 to late summer 1916 with the Austro-Hungarian Air Service and the German Army.

“The Eindecker was the first with synchronized gear,” said Mark Mondello, an Old Rhinebeck ground attendant.  “It also had wing-warping—the only Fokker with this banking method.  The others had ailerons.”

Old Rhinebeck’s currently unassembled example is stored in the hangar on the hill.

Yet quality, and not quantity, led to the type’s consistent victories.  Although only about 425 were constructed, including the 160-hp E.IV, their maneuverability and overall superiority created an almost undefeatable armed fortress in European skies, and, in aircraft such as these, “German aces such as Max Immelmann and Oswald Boelcke became national heroes as the number of victories over their opponents grew,” according to Fokker Technologies.

“The Fokker ‘Eindecker’ became one of the most feared machines of the early part of the First World War,” asserts Old Rhinebeck through its website.  “This aircraft was the first true fighter…of the war and set the stage for a battle of technological superiority between nations that directly influenced the rapid development of aircraft design for the duration of the war.”

Like many of the crops grown by his aviation concern, its seed was first planted in Anthony Fokker’s mind.  Once again influenced by a competitor—in this case, the Sopwith triplane—he instructed engineer Reinhold Platz in 1917 to incorporate such a performance-producing triplet of wings.

Devoid of external supports or bracing wires, the cantilever design only employed thin, inter-plane struts and those on which the top wing was mounted.

“As you can see,” said Mark, pointing to the bright red Dr.1 on the field, “there isn’t any external bracing, but the mid-wing completely obscures the pilot’s vision.  “There are also two Spandau machine guns mounted over the engine cowling.”

Entering service with Manfred von Richthofen’s JGI, it scored its first victory with Lieutenant Werner Voss and he notched up 20 more in an almost equal number of days, as its prototypes and 318 production aircraft joined forces to demonstrate victorious and notorious, but short-lived performance at the Front.  Short-lived himself, Voss lost his life in one on September 23, 1917 when he was shot down by an SE5A.

“The Dr.1 was an excellent gun platform because of its maneuverability,” said Neill.  “It could out-turn anything in the sky.  In a dogfight, it was a definite plus.  You could get behind the enemy, but otherwise it was dangerous—very unstable.”

Powered by a 110-hp, UR.II Oberursel engine and sporting 23-foot, 7 ^5/8-inch spans of its three wings, the Dr.1 had a maximum, 102-mph speed and 20,000-foot operational ceiling.

“(But it was) a tricky airplane to fly,” said Al Loncto, longtime Old Rhinebeck Air Show announcer.  “It tries to kill you from the moment you start it to the moment you apply the brakes (after landing).  Its ground direction-ability is lousy.”

“There aren’t any brakes,” continued Mark.  “You control the direction on the ground with the rudder.  But in the air you could make such tight turns that you could get behind any enemy aircraft.”

“I think it was out of proportion for what it did,” said Neill,  “Richthofen made most of his kills in the Albatros, but they were glamorized by the Dr.1, what with its red paint job and triplane configuration.”

Nevertheless, Richthofen, synonymous with the type, scored numerous victories and its superior maneuverability and climb rate combined to turn it into a worthy opponent of such types as the SE5A and the SPAD.  In the end, however, he proved the validity of the adage, “he who lives by the sword, dies by the sword,” as he himself did in the triplane when he was shot down on April 21, 1918, a month before it reached its apex with 171 aircraft at the Front.

Of the three reproduction Fokker triplanes in the Old Rhinebeck collection, the second, located in the World War I hangar on the hill, is powered by a 110-hp Le Rhone engine and had engaged in mock dogfights with a Sopwith Pup during weekend air shows for some two decades from 1987, while the currently performing one, in true barnstorming style, alighted on numerous eastern coast grass fields when Cole Palen had ferried it to the aerodrome from Florida. The third DR.I is on display at the New England Air Museum at Bradley Field in CT.

“(Regrettably), there aren’t any original Dr.1s flying today,” said Neill.

Both the speed at which the next Fokker fighter flew and took shape increased, with a corresponding decrease in the number of wings, resulting in the “Zweidecker” or biplane D.VII.

Brainchild, like the Dr.1, of Anthony Fokker, it was once again transformed from the specifications he submitted to Reinhold Platz into fabric- and wood-generating lift and was then subjected to its initial flight tests, as the V.II prototype, in early-1918, immediately demonstrating its superior performance characteristics.

Large-scale production, of 400 airplanes, commenced after von Richthofen-requested modifications, including a lengthened fuselage and a fixed fin, resolved its inherent instabilities and produced a biplane with 29-foot, 2^1/3-inch wings; a six-cylinder, 160-hp Mercedes inline engine; and the snow-standard, dual Spandau machine guns.  It could attain maximum, 117-mph speeds.

The Hermann Goering-commanded JGI took delivery of the first Fokker biplane in April of 1918.

“This was basically the ultimate fighter of World War I,” said Mark, “and was used by various air forces into the thirties.  The wing, as you can see, is thick and offers very high lift.  It’s a cantilever type, without external bracing wires.”

Powered by a 185-hp BMW IIIa engine and designated D.VIIF, it achieved its performance peak, climbing to 5,000 meters in 14 minutes as opposed to the earlier D.VII’s 38.

According to Fokker Technologies, “The Fokker D.VII was strong, fast, and superb at high altitudes and was extremely popular with the German pilots…(It) became the backbone of the Dutch Air Force during the 1920s.”

Old Rhinebeck’s website agrees.  “The D.VII had the unique ability to hang on its prop while the nose was pitched upward”—capabilities reflected by the sheer numbers produced: 840 by Fokker and 785 by Albatros alone.

“Ours,” said Mark, “has an original, water-cooled, 200-hp Mercedes engine.  The airplane was so respected that the Armistice Agreement directed that all Fokker D.VIIs with BMW and Mercedes engines be turned over to the Allies.  It was also the last aircraft that Cole Palen built that he got to see fly.”

Written by Hugh Schoelzel | 15 July 2012

The FOKKER IN SCHWERIN FOUNDATION is making a major effort to preserve the original Fokker production facility used from 1914-1919.

They will certainly appreciate any help you can give.  Contact them at Fokker

 

Written by Hugh Schoelzel | 26 June 2012

If you have further interest in visiting aviation museums, check out this new iPhone app. It has pictures and information for nearly every aviation museum in the USA, Canada and the UK.

;-( I am an Android guy, so hope they have one coming soon for us.

 

http://itunes.apple.com/us/app/aviation-museums-u.s.a.-canada/id518586910?mt=8&ign-mpt=uo%3D2

Written by Hugh Schoelzel | 04 June 2012

Falling Rain, Rising Planes on Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome’s 53^rd Season Opening

By

Robert G. Waldvogel

 

When the yellow-and-white striped canopy was raised next to the still-boarded Snack Stand at Cole Palen’s Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome on June 2, it symbolically represented its 2012, or 53^rd–season, opening and ordinarily protected its volunteers from the early-summer sun.  This year, however, they had huddled under it to escape the onslaught of rain that had transformed the rolling grass field into a saturated sheen.  Because of its frail, yet meticulously-preserved fleet, air shows had, over the years, been rained out.  But the annual, FAA-mandated Safety Briefing for the staff that would turn both its props and gears had not and was therefore relocated to the History of Flight Building on the hill above the main parking field.

“This is a very unique spot,” said Neill Herman, Air Show President, of the entire aerodrome, as he distributed copies of its “Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome Airshows Ground Crew Briefing 2012” sheets.  “We’re following in Cole Palen’s footsteps.  He single-handedly did a phenomenal job in creating this place.”

Poised on their wheels, the hangar’s collection of vintage, fabric-covered biplanes, including an original 1908 Voisin, a 1911 Gnome-powered Bleriot XI, a 1915 Nieuport 10, a 1917 Morane Saulnier A-1, and a 1917 Thomas Morse S4B Scout, served as powerplant-breathing proof of Palen’s “living aviation museum,” where, even long after his death, it has continued to fulfill his lifelong mission of “keeping (his) dream alive.”

“These are not modern airplanes made to look like old airplanes,” Herman continued.  “They’re the real thing, with original instruments.  This is what people want to see.”

Glancing at the three-dozen crew members, he said, “This is a place where its volunteers can flourish, wear period outfits, have fun, and find their niche.”

“Because of our volunteers,” said Mike DiGiacomio, Rhinebeck Museum President, “we have a unique opportunity to get up close and personal with these airplanes.  Imagine looking up and seeing a Curtiss Jenny right over your head.  Because of our volunteers, we get the rest of the world to enjoy the aerodrome.”

“There are more than 60 antique airplanes, automobiles, and artifacts housed in four museum hangars and the aerodrome buildings on the airfield,” he continued.

“Gathering the people here for the opening,” said Don Fleming, Old Rhinebeck’s Public Relations Manager, “—getting a perspective on the safety, but giving them insight into the operation and having them understand the parts they will play—enhances the aerodrome.  We really are a major attraction to the area and the whole region.”

Tying Old Rhinebeck’s purpose together, Herman concluded, “People come here for a glance back in time.”

Like opening their eyes after winter’s hibernation, those airfield-located hangars revealed the aircraft Palen had used to keep his dream alive more than half a century before the day’s safety review, as they peered out at the still-glistening grass that would soon serve as their runway: the Curtiss Model D, the Hanriot, the Caudron G.III, the SPAD VII, the Fokker Dr.1 triplane, and the Anzani-powered Bleriot XI.  The latter is the second-oldest flying aircraft in the world.

At noon, as the Safety Briefing ended and the History of Flight hangar’s massive doors slid open, the season’s first tour group filtered in—or back—to the void which seemed frozen in time, preserving aviation’s infancy.

The morning’s rain, having slowed to a trickle, had watered the field from which grass had risen, but, during the summer of 2012, from which so too would Old Rhinebeck’s fabric-covered and wire-braced aircraft, propelled into living history flight toward the patch in the now cloud-dissipating sky during their 53^rd year.