Louis Bleriot: Paving the Way for Modern Aviation

French aviator, engineer, and inventor Louis Charles Joseph Bleriot was a true
pioneer in the history of aviation. He was most well-known for making the first
successful airplane flight across the English Channel, but Bleriot made several other
important contributions to the world of aviation, including forming one of the most
successful early airplane manufacturing companies.

Louis Bleriot’s Early Years

Born in Cambrai, France on July 1, 1872, Louis Bleriot was the oldest of five children.
A precocious child, he left home at the age on ten to attend a boarding school at
Institut Notre Dame in Cambrai. At age fifteen, he moved to the Lycee at Amiens to
live with his aunt. Bleriot spent one year at the College Sainte-Barbe in Paris and
then passed a demanding entrance exam which allowed him to study for the next
three years at the prestigious Ecole Centrale in Paris.

After serving a term of required military

service, Louis Bleriot landed a job with Bagues, an electrical engineering company
based in Paris. It was while working here that Bleriot developed what would become
the first practical automobile headlamp. With this achievement in hand, he left his job
at Bagues and opened his own business supplying headlamps to the two foremost
auto manufacturers of the time, Renault, and Panhard-Levassor.

While on his lunch break one day in 1900, Louis Bleriot happened to see a lovely
young woman dining with her parents. Struck by her beauty, he decided then and
there that this was the woman he would marry, and bribed one of the waiters to tell
him who she was. Things worked out, because the following year, Bleriot married
Alice Vedene, the woman from the restaurant that had so smitten him.

Louis Bleriot and Experiments In Aviation

Louis Bleriot used the money that he made from his business success to fund his
early aviation experiments. When he was 30, Bleriot taught himself to fly in an aircraft
that was of his own design. Through much trial and error, Bleriot honed his skills as
both pilot and designer. His first series of experiments using ornithopters were all
unsuccessful. Bleriot then met Gabriel Voison in 1905 and was impressed by him
when he photographed Voison’s first trials using a floatplane glider. After witnessing
the successful trials, Bleriot commissioned Voison to create what was known as the
Bleriot II glider. While the Bleriot II flight actually crashed and nearly killed Voison,
Bleriot’s enthusiasm remained undeterred.

Bleriot later teamed up with Voison to establish a company called the Ateliers
d’Aviation Edouard Surcouf, Bleriot et Voisin. The pair then developed two versions
of aircraft powered by lightweight Antionetter engines, known as the Bleriot III and
Bleriot IV. Neither of these aircraft were successful and Bleriot later dissolved his
partnership with Voison and created his own business known as Recherches
Aeronautiques Louis Bleriot. This company was a true milestone to the world of
aviation because it produced the world’s first powered monoplane that was
successful.

The Bleriot VII

Louis Bleriot had to design a few more plane models before achieving his great
accomplishment. Recognized as the first monoplane flight in the world which was
successful, the Bleriot VII made its first flight on November 16, 1907. The tail surfaces
of this plane were arranged in a way that has become the conventional and modern
layout. The Bleriot VII continued its success with Bleriot piloting two more flights of
over 500 meters on December 6, which also included a U-turn. At the time, this was
considered to be the biggest achievement among any of the French aviating
pioneers.

The Daily Mail Inspires Success

The inspiration behind Louis Bleriot’s famed flight across the English Channel came
in the form of an offer put out by London’s Daily Mail. The Daily Mail had originally
offered 500 pounds sterling in October of 1908 for anyone who could make a flight
before the conclusion of the year. After the year passed and no serious attempts had
been made, the paper increased their prize to 1000 pounds sterling and extended
the offer until the end the year 1909. Many people originally took this prize offering
to be not much more than a publicity stunt, however, Bleriot had other ideas.

On July 25, 1909, Bleriot set out to pilot his 25-horsepowered engine monoplane
known as the Bleriot XI. He piloted this plane across the waters of the English
Channel from Calais, France to Dover, England and won the coveted prize of 1000
pounds sterling offered by the London Daily Mail. This was a 22 mile flight that took
Bleriot a total of 36 minutes and 30 seconds to complete and made him famous for
being the first person to fly an aircraft across the English

Channel. One very interesting

fact is that Bleriot completed his famous flight without the use of a compass or
instruments which our modern pilots have today. He was also flying with a badly
injured foot that he had injured in a test flight which was causing him great pain. It
also began to rain during the flight, causing turbulence and poor visibility, yet
somehow, Bleriot continued on and stayed on course.

A small group of onlookers had gathered to watch Bleriot’s arrival as he landed in a

grassy field in Dover. The historic flight had a rough landing, resulting in damaging
the plane’s undercarriage and a broken propeller. However, Bleriot emerged from
the flight unscathed, famous, and 1000 pounds sterling richer. This flight also earned
him the titles of “the father of the modern monoplane” and “the pilot of the first epochal
flight”. After his impressive flight, Louis Bleriot was celebrated on both sides of the
English Channel and also received a hero’s welcome in Paris the following day.

Life After Crossing The English Channel

At the time of Bleriot’s flight across the waters of the English Channel, he had already
invested about 780.000 francs of his own money to fund his aviation experiments.
Thanks to his legendary flight, his company, Reserches Aeronautiques Louis Bleriot,
saw an immediate transformation in business as a result. This was when his
investment in aviation started to pay off for him, as the company began receiving
several orders for the Type XI aircraft, which sold for around 10,000 francs each.

Bleriot also continued to nurture his love for piloting by flying at the Grand Semaine
d’Aviation which was held in Reims. While there, he was narrowly beaten by other
pilots. However, Bleriot did manage to complete the speediest lap of the circuit, which
established a new record for world speed for aircraft at the time. He continued to
make other appearances and attended aviation meetings. Up until December of
2010, Bleriot had typically escaped several failed flight attempts by coming out

uninjured, but as you might

guess, his good luck eventually ran out. While flying in gusty weather conditions in
Istanbul, Bleriot’s plane came to a crash landing on the roof of a house, leaving him
with internal injuries, several broken ribs, and a three week stay in the hospital.

World War 1 And Its Impact On Bleriot

Between July of 1909 and the onset of World War 1 in August of 1914, over 800
aircraft were produced at the Bleriot factory, most of them being the famed Type XI
monoplanes or variations of the design. His planes were purchased by many different
flying clubs, even those from as far reaching as Australia. Bleriot machines were also
used by the embryonic air forces of Russia, Austria, Britain, Italy, and France. Bleriot
aircraft and the pilots who used them also heavily prevailed as the dominant forces
in the great European competitions and air races that took place in 1910. As of July
1910, the Bleriot Type XI held world records in the areas of duration, distance, speed,
and altitude.

While innovational and revolutionary, the monoplanes were not without controversy.
Due to safety concerns resulting from accidents involving four Bleriot planes, the
French Army placed a brief ban on using monoplanes in 1912. The concern was
based on the fact that the monoplanes had relatively weak wings which could
collapse and cause crashing. Louis Bleriot took it upon himself to identify the problem
with the aircraft and to come up with a solution. The ban on the monoplanes was
lifted after the problem was resolved by strengthening the landing wires of the planes.

In 1914, Bleriot took over the makers of the famous SPAD biplane which were used
extensively by the French air forces, and later by the American air forces during Word
War 1. This cemented him as a true leader in the aviation industry and paved the
way for those who followed. During the postwar years, Bleriot continued to be
involved in the commercial production of aircraft and continued to make contributions
to the field of aviation until the time of his death.

Louis Bleriot Versus The Wright Brothers

Many people associate the Wright Brothers with the beginning of modern flight. This
led to a five year legal battle between Bleriot and five other aircraft builders in Europe
and the Wright Brothers. The legal issue involved the patents of the latter’s wing
warping, however, both the French and German courts dismissed the Wright
Brother’s claim.

Louis Bleriot Remains Involved In The Aviation World

In 1927, although Bleriot had long since retired from flying himself, he was there to
welcome aviator Charles Lindbergh as he completed his transatlantic flight and made
his landing at Le Bourget field. There was a famous photo that was taken in Paris of
the two famous men together, both of whom had made history by flying across well
known bodies of water.

Interestingly, Bleriot visited the Newark Airport in New Jersey in 1934 and had made
the prediction that by the year 1938, there would be commercial overseas flights.

The Legacy Of Louis Bleriot

Bleriot was involved in the aviation business right up until he died of a heart attack in
Paris on August 1, 1936. He was given a funeral that included full military honors and
was buried in Versailles at the Cimetiere des Gonards. In 1936, the Louis Bleriot
medal was established in his honor. This medal is given by the Federation
Aeronautique Internationale and is sometimes awarded up to three times in one
calendar year. To be awarded this medal, recipients must be record setters in the
areas of speed, distance, and altitude categories in a light aircraft. The Louis Bleriot
medal continues to be awarded to this day to recognize those individuals who have
made a contribution in the areas of trendsetting and record breaking in aviation, much
like Bleriot himself did.

To commemorate the one hundredth anniversary of Louis Bleriot’s famous flight, a

Frenchman named Edmond Salis decided to re-enact Bleriot’s flight. Salis departed
from Bleriot Beach in a plane that was and identical replica of the monoplane Bleriot
flew one hundred years before. Salis then made a successful landing in Kent at the
Duke of York’s Royal Military School.

References To Louis Bleriot In Popular Culture

For some, Louis Bleriot’s name may not be well known, but for many others, it has
its place in pop culture. In 2002, a train company in England came out with a new
type of train called the British Rail Class 221 and named one of its trains Louis Bleriot.
Rivendell Bicycle Works created a bike model they called the Bleriot 650B in 2006,
complete with Bleriot’s picture featured on the seat. Imaging scientists nicknamed a
moonlet in one of Saturn’s rings and called it “Bleriot”. Bleriot even has his own KLM
Boeing plane named after him.

Conclusion
Louis Bleriot played an important role in developing an aircraft that could go faster,
farther, and higher than those before it. His plane designs revolutionized the aviation
field during his lifetime and his company produced aircraft that were known for their
quality and performance. Bleriot made advances and developments in the areas of
plane speed, distance, and altitude, all which paved the way for future advances
leading up to the development of our modern planes. Louis Bleriot is truly a man to
be remembered for the many contributions he made to the field of aviation. While the
names of other aviators such as Charles Lindbergh or Amelia Earhart may be more
recognizable, nothing takes away from the fact that Bleriot was the first person to
successfully fly a powered monoplane and cross the English Channel.
The Inspiring Otto Lilienthal
Few technologies have had such a big impact on our culture as air travel. Before the
age of aviation, few could afford to visit foreign shores. Surface transport was
expensive, slow, and uncomfortable. The vast distances which separated the nations
meant made aliens of our neighbours.

Since commercial flight has become a reality, the world’s horizons have shrunk.
Tourism has grown to be a major source of income and employment. And business
and culture have spread beyond national borders.

When we look back to the dawn of aviation, we can trace these sweeping changes
back to a few pioneers. When we think of the “fathers of flight,” we immediately
picture the Wright Brothers. But they weren’t the first to bear that title.

Otto Lilienthal was. Although he never successfully flew a powered plane, he was
the first to build and fly winged aircraft. His gliders are the ancestors of today’s
airplanes and gliders. And his research on the flight mechanics of birds forms the
basis of modern wing design.

The Wright brothers named Lilienthal as their inspiration. Photographs of his gliding
experiments were reproduced and published all over the world. At the time when he
made his first successful flights, Orville and Wilbur were selling bicycles. The photos
inspired them to build their own craft, which eventually led to the first successful
powered airplanes. The Wright Brothers weren’t the only pioneers to rise to the
challenge, either. A number of inventors were similarly inspired, and the race to build
the first self-propelling plane was on.

Otto Lilienthal’s Early Life and Experiments with Flight

Like many who were drawn to flight in the early days, Otto’s passion for flight began
as a child. Born in 1848, he was spellbound by the tales of Count Zambeccay. The
count was an aeronaut, and his ballooning adventures made a lasting impression on
Otto and his brother Gustav. Together, they dreamed of flying. They were also
inspired by an animal fable. In the story, a stork tells a wren how he is able to fly so
far without getting tired. The brothers were captivated by the detailed description of
gliding. They realized that the same principles could be applied to a manned craft.

Many mothers would shudder at the thought of their sons trying to fly with homemade
contraptions, but their mother was surprisingly supportive of their enthusiasm. She
realized they had a driving passion, and would probably do it anyway. As long as
they ran their plans by her, and took the right precautions, she was happy to give
them her blessing. Their uncle was less supportive. He thought their ideas were crazy
at best, and treated them to his dire predictions and ominous warnings. Undeterred,
the boys continued with their plans.

Their early results were far from successful. While still at school, they built a pair of
wooden wings which strapped on to their arms. They planned to fly by jumping from
a hill and flapping their arms like birds. Of course, they didn’t want to be seen by their
school friends, so they conducted their experiments in the still of the night.

Their second attempt was based on a similar concept. This time, they added a great
many feathers to the wings. Having learned that it’s not a good idea to jump from a
height with an unproven flying machine, they carried out their early experiments in
the attic of their family home.

Once again, the experiments were a failure. But they didn’t give up. Over the next
few years, they built a couple of models. The first prototype was spring powered, and
could fly across 2 rooms by flapping its wings.

Otto Lilienthal the Inventor and Engineer

Their experiments were interrupted by the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian war. Otto
volunteered to serve his country and took part in the siege of Paris. He was later
remembered by his old war chums as an eccentric with a dream that one day men
would fly.

The next model he created was steam powered, with a tubular engine of Otto’s own
design. It turned out to be too powerful for the small model, breaking the wings. It
was a success for the motor, but a failure for the aircraft.

Otto became an engineer, and Gustav trained as an architect. Both of them were
very busy, but they kept talking about ideas for flight. Otto gained a position with a
mining company, but the long office hours meant he had little time for aviation

He realized that he could buy the time he needed with a successful invention. So he
invented a machine to help miners move coal rapidly from the mines. Unfortunately,
the coal market was in a slump at the time. The invention was useful, but few mines
could afford to buy it. And so Otto returned to the drawing board.
It’s around this time that he met Agnes Fischer, during a trip to Saxony. They were
drawn together by a mutual love of music. Otto played the French horn, and she
played the piano. They married in 1878, and would have 4 children together.

Down on his luck, Gustav moved into their house. The brothers worked on another
invention, a brick toy for children called the “anchor.” Although it proved popular with
the children who played with it, it was a commercial failure. Gustav was unable to
make ends meet as an architect in Prussia, so he emigrated to Australia.

Otto’s next invention was based on the tubular steam engine he had created for his
flying model. This invention was a success. It was a considerable improvement over
existing steam engines, delivering more power and operating more safely. Otto was
soon able to retire on the income from his tubular engine.

Otto Lilienthal Focuses on Aviation and Gliders

All flight is based upon producing air pressure, all flight energy
consists in overcoming air pressure. – Otto Lilienthal
He built a home for his family and dedicated himself to a serious study of the flight
mechanics of birds. He applied the full range of analytical and mathematical tools he
had at his disposal. When he had finished, he published his findings in a book titled:
“Birdflight as the Basis for Aviation.”

While his results have been improved on since, his work still forms the foundation of
modern aviation.

Gustav was thriving in Australia, but he returned to continue his experiments with his
brother. Together, they built the first of several working gliders. Otto flew the
Derwitzer Glider for the first time in Brandenburg, in 1891. The glider was an
extension of his earlier “strap-on wing” plans and had a total wingspan of just over 7
metres. It flew over a distance of 25 metres.
It was a stunning achievement, and the world took notice. The experiments were well
documented and photographed, and news quickly spread. Scientific journals and the
popular press were both intrigued.

Otto continued to improve his designs. Over a period of 5 years, he built and tested
20 different craft, including biplanes. He knew there were several problems that had
to be solved to make flight a viable mode of transport. First, there was the problem
of power. Then there was stability – his gliders were prone to diving uncontrollably in
poor conditions. Then there was the matter of control.

Otto Lilienthal Gliding

He was convinced that planes should be powered by a flapping motion of the wings.
He saw the flight mechanics of birds as the ideal model. Nature had provided a
simple, effective and economical design for air propulsion. At first, he thought
the pilotcould provide the power directly, by flapping the wings using the arms. When
he realized that this wouldn’t work, he tried several different motor designs to solve
the problem. These ranged from a variation of his tubular steam engine to a chemical
engine.

He made better progress in the area of stability. He introduced a hinged tailplane

which compensated for the tendency to dive. And his biplane designs improved
general stability considerably. Steering was a more serious problem. His craft was
steered by shifting the pilot’s body weight to change the attitude of the wings. It was
effective, but it was limited by the way the pilot was harnessed to the glider.
Unlike modern hangliders and microlight aircraft, Lilienthal’s gliders were attached to
the pilot’s shoulders. This meant he couldn’t shift his weight very far from the craft’s
center of gravity. Nonetheless, he did manage to improve the steerability of his glider
using a handbar. A similar design is used in hangliders today.

Otto made a great deal of progress in the 5 years since his first flight. He performed
over 2000 flights in his gliders and had spent a total of 5 hours in the air. Inventors
all over the world were taking notice, and he had a fair number of imitators.

No one can realize how substantial the air is, until he feels its
supporting power beneath him. It inspires confidence at once. -Otto
Lilienthal
Otto Lilienthal’s Fateful Crash

But his progress was terminated prematurely by a fatal accident. On 9 August 1896,
he took his “Normal Glider” out to perform several experimental flights. It was a fine
day, sunny but not too hot. His first 3 flights were successful, and he managed to fly
250 metres on the 3rd flight.

During his 4th flight, the glider pitched into a dive. He was unable to pull the nose up,
and he crashed into the ground from 15 metres. He broke his neck.

His mechanic rushed him to the local physician who identified the injury. Knowing
that he lacked the skill to treat such a terrible fracture, he rushed Otto by train to the
clinic of Dr. Ernst von Bergmann. Bergmann was one of Europe’s most renowned
surgeons, but he was unable to treat Lilienthal’s injuries.

Slipping in and out of consciousness, it was clear that Otto had only a few hours to
live. During a lucid moment, he spoke his last words to his brother, who had rushed
to be by his side. His words translate to “Sacrifices must be made.”

He died a few hours later. He left behind a widow and four children.

Otto Lilienthal’s Legacy

Gustav Lilienthal

Gustav never gave up on the idea of a plane powered by flapping wings. He

continued to improve on his brother’s designs until his death in the 1930s.

By this time, propeller power was a thoroughly accepted concept. Aeronautic

engineers who looked beyond the propeller dreamt of jet propulsion and rocket
engines. Flapping wings were considered a naive dead end, and Gustav’s craft never
flew.

Otto Lilienthal’s life was dedicated to a simple dream. In chasing that dream, he paid
the ultimate price. He wasn’t the first to sacrifice his life in the name of flight, and he
wasn’t the last. At the time, critics were not slow to spot the similarities between his
fate and that of Icarus. But was that a fair comparison?

In legend, Icarus succumbed to pride and flew too close to the sun. His selfishness
was his undoing. Otto did put his passion for flight before his safety and the wellbeing
of his family, but his motives were far from selfish. Lilienthal wasn’t a giddy-headed
amateur who leapt into danger without thinking. His flights were careful experiments.
His findings were thoroughly documented and meticulously tabulated.

Shortly after his fatal crash, the Wright Brothers began their own experiments with
gliders. His research formed the basis of their early experiments. Their own
innovations were based on his discoveries. They refined the equations that he
published in his book using their own experimental data. They solved the problem of
control with their concept of wing warping, and later ailerons. And, in December 1903,
they made the first powered flight.

The Wright Brothers were very open about the influence Otto’s work had on their
own achievements. Wilbur publicly stated that Otto Lilienthal’s research was the most
important aviation work of the 19th century. And Orville visited Lilienthal’s widow to
pay his respects in 1909. He told her that her husband’s influence on aviation was
responsible for the work he undertook with his brother.

Today we live in a world that has been shaped by aviation. Commercial air travel has
shrunk the horizons and expanded our prospects. It fuels our economies and
stimulates cultural exchange. Air travel is safe. But early aircraft were very
dangerous. It took a lot of trial and error to make safe flight a reality. This progress
was bought dearly with the lives of pioneering aviators, including Otto Lilienthal.

From the busiest cities to the most remote pockets of civilization, we all benefit from
modern aviation. Today, when natural disasters strike, it’s air transport that brings
medical aid and relief workers to repair the devastation.

Through the dedication and hard work of inventors and pioneers, our culture has
been transformed.

Along the way, sacrifices were made.

I, too, have made it a lifelong task of mine to add a cultural element

to my work, which should result in uniting countries and reconciling
their people. Our experience of today’s civilisation suffers from the
fact that it only happens on the surface of the earth. We have
invented barricades between our countries, custom regulations and
constraints and complicated traffic laws and these are only possible
because we are not in control of the ‘kingdom of the air’, and not as
‘free as a bird’. – Otto Lilienthal
Alberto Santos-Dumont: the “Little Saint” with a
Big Impact
Ask any random person off the street who flew the first airplane, and odds are they’ll
answer confidently, “The Wright Brothers.”Even most pilots would agree that it was
the American duo who first took to the skies in a heavier-than-air craft.
However, according to the people of Brazil, the honor goes to Alberto Santos-
Dumont, national hero, and famed aviator, due to a loophole in the stipulations by
the Federation Aéronautique International for the first true airplane.

Early Life in Brazil

The youngest son of a wealthy Brazilian coffee mogul, Alberto Santos-Dumont was
born on July 20, 1873, in the village of Cabangu, Brazil. From a young age, Alberto
was intrigued by the tractors and other machines used on the coffee plantation in his
youth, and after reading more than his fair share of Jules Verne became obsessed
with the concept of flying machines.

As a teenager, Alberto Santos-Dumont went to a science and engineering-centric

high school, providing him with the additional knowledge and experience needed to
make his lifelong dreams of flight a reality.

Alberto’s father, Henriques, suffered a severe horseback riding accident that left him
partially paralyzed, forcing him to seek advanced medical treatment. He traveled to
Portugal to see doctors, and when he didn’t find successful treatment there, traveled
to Paris with his son. After consulting with specialists, Henriques learned he only had
a short time to live. He sold the coffee plantation and moved to Europe with his wife
and family.

Henriques told his son to use his portion of the family wealth to “make a man out of
himself,” and pursue his interests in physics and chemistry. Alberto then returned to
Paris and studied those subjects, in addition to astronomy, electricity, and mechanics
with a private tutor over the next four years, occasionally returning home to visit
Brazil.

Making a Life for Himself in Paris, France

An early portrait of Alberto Santos-Dumont

One of the first things Alberto did on arrival in Paris in 1891 was to arrange for a flight
in a balloon. However, upon finding out it would cost 1,200 francs for a two-hour
flight, he decided against the flight, saying, “If I risk 1,200 francs for an afternoon’s
pleasure I shall find it either good or bad. If it is bad, the money will be lost. If it is
good, I shall want to repeat it and I shall not have the means.”

This business savvy was apparently only limited to new experiences, as shortly after
this, Alberto bought a Peugeot automobile, which he would replace with a De Dion-
Bouton motor-tricycle in the next couple of years. Between 1892 and 1897, Alberto
would travel back to Brazil many times, but his love for Paris always brought him
back.

Before leaving Brazil in 1897, Alberto bought a book telling the tale of Salomon
August Andrée’s ill-fated attempt to fly a balloon to the North Pole, written by the
balloon manufacturers Lachambre and Machuron. Alberto declared the book to be
“a revelation” and decided to get in contact with the balloon manufacturers when he
reached Paris.

Alberto Santos-Dumont’s First Balloon Flight

Alberto Santos-Dumont’s first balloon design, the Bresil.

Alberto met Alexis Machuron and took off from Vaugirard, Paris and flew the balloon
for two hours and 100km, eventually coming down at the Château de Ferrières. It
was love at first flight. Alberto and Machuron took a train back to Paris, during which
Alberto enthused about balloons, and ordered one to be constructed by Machuron
and Lachambre for himself. Before the balloon was completed, Alberto spent
countless hours floating through the skies, performing demonstration flights for
Lachambre.

His first balloon, the Brésil, was nearly 1/7th the size of the balloon he and Machuron
flew to the Château, with a capacity of only 113 cubic meters. Eventually, just as he
tired of the Peugeot and bought a De Dion, Alberto switched his focus from balloons
to non-rigid airships, or as we know them now, dirigibles.

The Santos-Dumont No. 1-3

On September 18, 1898, Alberto took his dirigible, the Santos-Dumont No. 1 on its
maiden voyage. Unfortunately, due to the small ballonet being unable to maintain the
rigidity of the envelope, the No. 1 crashed on its second flight two days later.

His second dirigible design, the No. 2 was abandoned after its first flight on May 11,
1899, due to design flaws exacerbated by the weather. The day of No. 2’s first flight,
it began to rain heavily, cooling the hydrogen inside the balloon, causing it to
compress and contract dramatically. The envelope then folded in on itself and was
caught by a gust of wind, blowing it into a copse of trees, where it was destroyed.

Shortly after the destruction of the No. 2, Alberto finished his third dirigible design
(you guessed it, the No. 3), which was constructed with the hopes of eliminating the
issues he ran into with the second dirigible. The envelope of the No. 3 was shorter but
much larger in diameter, to theoretically make it impossible for the loss of internal
pressure the Santos-Dumont No. 1 and No. 2 suffered to cause the airship to crash.
The No. 3 marked a turning point in Alberto’s career as an aviator, as it was his first
coal-powered dirigible. He turned away from his faulty ballonet concept and shifted
toward a lightweight bamboo keel, and away from hydrogen and toward coal gas.
Coal gas had gained popularity during this time all over the world, as it was a common
by-product of many factories post-Industrial Revolution.

Innovating to Win, Ending in Failure

By the time Alberto was ready to move on to the No. 4, the No. 3 had been flown
successfully a number of times, bolstering Alberto’s confidence in the concept of the
dirigible. The No. 4, again, differed greatly from its predecessors as it was fitted with
a tractor propeller in front of the keel, as well as a bicycle saddle for the pilot’s seat,
but returned to his initial designs in spirit after he acquired a hydrogen processing
plant, allowing him to retry to hydrogen-as-lifting-agent and ballonet combination.
With the addition of a larger, wider envelope and a four-cylinder air-cooled engine,
the No. 4 became a great success.

The Santos-Dumont No. 5 rounding the Eiffel Tower.

The No. 5 was designed for speed and power, with the hopes of winning the time
trial between the Aero-Club de France to the Eiffel Tower and back within 30
minutes. Unfortunately, though it was more than fast enough, reaching the Eiffel
Tower in just 8 minutes, a faulty valve caused the rapid decompression of the
envelope, which led to a series of small disasters that would end in a near-
catastrophe.

The deflation of the balloon caused some of the piano wire Alberto had used to
suspend the pine gondola to get wrapped up in the tractor propeller. Unsure of how
to salvage the situation, Alberto shut off the engine, which reduced any further
damage to the propeller, but left him seated in a balloon with no forward power and
no means of re-inflating the balloon. The wind carried Alberto and the No. 5 directly
into the Trocadero Hotel, bursting the envelope in what papers described as an
explosion, and leaving Alberto hanging perilously from the side of the hotel, hanging
high above the stone courtyard below. Luckily for aviation, the Parisian fire brigade
rescued Alberto, and he would survive to innovate another day. Unluckily, however,
the No. 5 was damaged beyond repair.

The Santos-Dumont No. 6 and the Deustch de la Meurthe

Never one to be deterred by failure, Alberto immediately began construction on the
No. 6, the airship that would earn him considerable fame across all of Europe.

The blades of Alberto Santos-Dumont’s helicopter.

Essentially the same design as the No. 5, with a larger envelope, and the kinks
worked out, Alberto and his No. 6 would go on to complete the race between the
Aero-Club de France and Eiffel Tower, winning the first place Deutsch de la
Meurtheprize. After this grand achievement, Alberto Santos-Dumont became a
household name in Paris, and was affectionately nicknamed le Petit Santos, which
literally translates to “The Little Saint.”

Alberto would donate the winnings from the Deutsch de la Meurthe to the Parisian
poor, and was additionally awarded a gold medal by the Brazilian
government. Records indicate that the most fashionable of Parisians copied
Alberto’s style, from his high-collared shirts to his signature Panama hat.

Sabotage
One of the best-known aviators at the time, Alberto was invited to travel to America
to compete in the Louisiana Purchase Exposition, in which any style of flying
machine had to make three laps of a 24km course at an average speed of 24km/h
(15mph), and land, undamaged within 46m of the finish line. He was also invited to
meet President Roosevelt in the White House.

Unfortunately, not every American was as excited to see Alberto win the race and
win the $100,000, and upon arrival in St. Louis, it was discovered that the No. 7 had
likely been sabotaged. A similar event had happened just prior upon Alberto’s arrival
in London for a fair, and so, afraid for his airship and personal safety, he returned
immediately to Paris.

Achieving Heavier-Than-Air Flight in the No. 14-bis

Alberto would continue designing and building dirigibles for most of his life but soon
switched his primary focus from non-rigid airships to heavier-than-air flight. By 1905,
Alberto had finished his first fixed-wing aircraft, as well as a primitive rotorcraft. On
October 23, 1906, Alberto took the No. 14-bis on a 60m flight in front of hundreds of
witnesses at the Bois de Boulogne Park in Paris.

Alberto Santos-Dumont in his No. 14-bis

The flight of the No. 14-bis marked the first powered heavier-than-air flying machine
in all of Europe to be recognized by the Aero-Club de France and would win
the Deutsch-Archdeacon Prize for the first (officially observed) flight exceeding
25m.

On November 12, 1906, just weeks later, the No. 14-bis again made history by
setting the first world flying recordrecognized by the Federation Aeronautique
Internationale (FAI), by flying 220m in just 21.5 seconds.

Who Really Made the First Heavier-Than-Air Flight?

As I mentioned in the beginning of the article, controversy arose. According to the
FAI, the stipulations for the first heavier-than-air flight were as follows:

1. The flight should be done before an official organization, qualified to ratify it

2. The flight should be done in calm weather and over a plain ground, and
properly documented
3. The machine should be able to take off from a designated area by its own
means with a man on board
4. The machine should carry on board the necessary source of energy
5. The machine should fly in a straight line
6. The machine should make a change of direction (turn and circle)
7. The machine should return to the starting point
The first flight of the Santos-Dumont No. 14-bis.

According to Dumont-supporting historians, the third specification, “The machine

should be able to take off from a designated area by its own means” is the damning
nail in the coffin regarding the Wright Bros. place in history. By their own admission,
and by the eye-witness accounts of those who saw the Wright Flyer III’s 39-minute
flight (reportedly longer in duration that all flights to that point) on October 5, 1905,
the aircraft was launched using a catapult, thus being propelled by means other than
its own. However, on the Wright side of the coin, the Wrights had recorded making
dozens of flights before they built the catapult launching system

The controversy has not yet been put to rest, and likely never will. Such is life!

Building the First Practical Ultralight Aircraft

Alberto Santos-Dumont flying his Demoiselle in France.

Regardless, Alberto continued to innovate, and eventually, by No. 19, had created
the first practical ultralight aircraft. The Demoiselle series (Santos-Dumont No.19-
No.22) were monoplanes with a wire-braced wing mounted above an open-
framework bamboo fuselage. An interesting aspect of the No. 19 was its cruciform
tail, which, fastened on a universal joint, functioned as both rudder and elevator. On
November 17, 1907, the No. 19 would make three successful flights from the airfield
at Issy-les-Moulineaux, on the left bank of the river Seine.

Because of the success of the No. 19, in 1908 Alberto partnered with the Clement-
Bayard company to mass-produce the Demoiselle. Their initial production run was
meant to build and sell 100 aircraft, but only ended up building 50, and sold even
less. Profits and production goals notwithstanding, the Demoiselle No. 19 was the
world’s first series production aircraft. It would continue to undergo improvements,
and by 1909 was capable of speeds up to 120km/h (roughly 75mph).

History of the Experimental Certificate

The current FAA regulations for experimental

amateur-built (or homebuilt) and kit-built aircraft state: ‘Special airworthiness
certificates may be issued in the experimental category for: Operating amateur-built
aircraft: to operate an amateur-built aircraft in which the major portion has been
fabricated and assembled by persons for their own recreation or education.
Operating kit-built aircraft: to operate a primary category aircraft that was assembled
by a person from a kit manufactured by the holder of a production certificate for that
kit, without the supervision and quality control of the production certificate holder.’
This ability to certify and fly homebuilt and kit-built aircraft allows a great deal of
satisfaction for a large number of aviation enthusiasts [Click to read more…]

Despite the troubles Alberto encountered in America years prior, the June 1910
edition of the Popular Mechanicsmagazine recognized the Demoiselle as “better
than any other which has ever been built, for those who wish to reach results with
the least possible expense and a minimum of experimenting.”

Alberto Santos-Dumont Calls it Quits on Aviation

On January 4, 1910, Alberto would make his last flight as a pilot. Flying above the
French countryside, one of the wire bracings on Alberto’s Demoiselle snapped,
crumpling the wing and sending them both toward the earth. Fortunately, Alberto was
only flying around 25m AGL and suffered only bruises. The shock of the accident,
however, left a lasting mark.
An illustration from Popular Mechanics of Alberto Santos-Dumont flying the ungainly No. 14-
bis

In March of that same year, Alberto announced he was retiring from aviation. A deep
depression had gripped him and would hold tightly until his death. He locked himself
in his home amongst rumors that he suffered a nervous breakdown. Historians now
speculate that he learned of his multiple sclerosis (MS) around this time, likely adding
to the depression he was already experiencing.

The following year, Alberto moved to Benerville-sur-Mer, a seaside village in the

Northwestern region of France, and took up astronomy as a hobby to occupy his
lonely mind. He lived there alone in solitude until the outbreak of WWI in 1914, after
which he was denounced as a German spy, due to his use of a German-
manufactured telescope and “unusual” accent. How quickly the people forget their
once-heroes in times of adversity!

Distraught at the allegation, and suffering a severe depression because of this

betrayal and his MS, Alberto burned his papers and plans, and spent most of the
1920s traveling from hospital to hospital (French and Swiss “sanatoria”), seeking
treatment, just as his father had done decades earlier.

The Saddest Welcome

In 1928, Alberto decided to return home to Brazil. A welcome party was arranged,
and the dozen or so leading Brazilian scientists boarded a seaplane to pay a “flying
welcome” to the Brazilian Father of Aviation upon his arrival on the luxury liner,
the Cap Arcona.

Disaster struck, and the seaplane and all onboard perished after crashing into the
waves. This dramatic and crippling loss for both the Brazilian scientific community
and Alberto himself sent him even further into misery. Dejected, he returned to
Switzerland, where he would remain in solitude until his nephew dragged him home
to Brazil in 1931.

A Sadder Goodbye
On July 23, 1932, in the Brazilian city of Guarujá, Alberto took his own life. He
reportedly hanged himself due to his depression over his illness, as well as the use
of aircraft in the São Paulo Constitutionalist Revolution. He, like many visionaries,
never wanted his inventions to be used as weapons, and regardless of the causes
the revolutionaries fought for, the aircraft became a symbol of death.

Alberto Santos-Dumont died a lifelong bachelor, with no children or wife to grieve his
loss. Until his dying day, however, he kept the portrait of a married Cuban-American
woman, Aida de Acosta on his desk, beside a vase of fresh flowers. Aida was the
only person Alberto ever allowed to fly his aircraft, and in 1903, after piloting his
dirigible No. 9, she would technically become the first woman to pilot a powered
aircraft. They didn’t keep in touch, and after Alberto’s death in 1932, Aida said she
hardly even knew him.

The body of Alberto Santos-Dumont was buried in the São João Batista
Cemetery after a state funeral, honoring the Brazilian aviation pioneer. His heart is
preserved in a golden globe in the Brazilian National Air and Space Museum.
First Flight: Gustave Whitehead
Welcome to part three of the First Flight series. In case you missed them, or want a
refresher, here are part one and part two.

Of all the people with claims to have flown before the Wright Brothers, perhaps the
most controversial is Gustave Whitehead (an Americanized version of his German
name Weisskopf), a German immigrant with an burning passion and talent for all
things aviation. Born in 1874, Whitehead’s parents died while he was still young
(1886 and 1887), and he began training as a mechanic in Hamburg in as a mechanic
in 1888, when he was fourteen. He then spent a year as part of a crew on a sailing
ship, returning to Germany in 1889. He next moved to Brazil with another family,
spent a few more years at sea, and finally immigrated to the US in 1893. He was
hired by a New York toy manufacturer to build kites and model gliders.

In 1896, he was contracted by the Boston Aeronautical Society, along with Albert BC
Horn, to build a glider and an ornithopter. Whitehead was able to make a few
successful low and short flights with the glider, but could not get the ornithopter to
fly. Later that year, Samuel Cabot (the founding member of the society) hired
Gustave Whitehead and James Cromwell (a carpenter) to build a replica Lilienthal
glider. Cabot and the society ran several flight tests using this glider, but none were
successful.

Gustave Whitehead Claims Successful Powered Flight

Between 1899 and 1903, Whitehead claimed to have made a successful powered
flight at least five times. The first of these flights was said to have taken place in
either April or May of 1899. Whitehead and Louis Davarich, a friend, said they made
a successful powered flight of half a mile in a monoplane powered by a steam engine.
Whitehead said he controlled the aircraft through means of shifting his body weight,
something that many critics claim wouldn’t have been possible with the size and
weight of an aircraft of that type. Davarich estimated they flew at a height of roughly
25 feet (7.6 m) over Pittsburgh’s Schenley Park.

The flight ended when they crashed into a brick building, severely scalding Davarich
who was stoking the engine at the time of impact. Davarich spent several weeks in
the hospital, and Whitehead was reportedly banned by the police from engaging in
any more flights in Pittsburgh. The only evidence to support this flight was an affidavit
given by Davarich in 1934. Given the lack of evidence and questionable details, many
aviation historians don’t believe this flight happened.

Gustave Whitehead and Number 21

The second occasion on which Gustave Whitehead claimed powered flight, 14
August 1901, is the most notorious and well-known, due to an accompanying
‘eyewitness’ report. The monoplane Number 211 served as the aircraft for this
second powered flight. On 26 July 1901, Whitehead shared some details with
the Minneapolis Journal on two unmanned test flights he’d made earlier that year in
May. For the first flight, the aircraft was loaded with 220 pounds (100 kg) of sand as
ballast, and was able to fly at a height of roughly 40 feet (12.2 m) for an estimated
659 feet (201 m). The second flight produced even more promising results, with a
flight of 2,641 feet (805 m). The plane covered this distance in 90 seconds, before
crashing into a tree. Whitehead did not disclose the location of the test flights, saying
he’d rather keep the location secret to avoid drawing a crowd.

Finally, on 14 August 1901, Whitehead was ready to try a manned flight of Number
21. The test was to take place in Fairfield, Connecticut, and the Bridgeport
Herald would be sending someone out to write an eyewitness report of the flight. This
report was published on 18 August 1901, in the form of an unsigned article. Though
the author of the report has never been definitively identified, it is widely believed that
the report was written by Richard ‘Dick’ Howell, the sports editor for the Bridgeport
Herald.

According to the report, Gustave Whitehead piloted Number 21 in a controlled flight

for roughly half a mile, at a height of 50 feet (15 m), and was able to land safely. The
report was published along with a drawing (also believed to be by Howell)
depicting Number 21 in flight. The drawing is said to be based off a photograph, but
no actual photographs of this flight were ever provided, or have ever been found.
The report revealed several other interesting details.

The woodcut of Number 21 in flight that accompanied the article.

First, in addition to the Herald’s eyewitness, two other eyewitnesses were named:
Andrew Cellie, and James Dickie. Second, Whitehead drove Number 21 to the test
site. According to the report, with the wings folded in, the monoplane functioned
much like a car. It is said to have achieved speeds of 30 mph (48 kph) over the
uneven road, and according to the report:

“There seems no doubt that the machine can reel off forty miles an hour and not
exert the engine to its fullest capacity.”
Third, the report says Whitehead successfully test flew Number 21 unmanned, using
sand as ballast and long tether ropes, before trying manned flight. Fourth, the report
relates an incident of Whitehead almost flying into some trees at the beginning of the
flight. Whitehead was quoted as saying:

“I knew that I could not clear them by rising higher, and also that I had no means of
steering around them by using the machinery.”

And, according to the report, Whitehead devised a solution to his problem in the air:

“He simply shifted his weight more to one side than the other. This careened the ship
to one side. She turned her nose away from the clump of sprouts when within fifty
yards of them and took her course around them as prettily as a yacht on the sea
avoids a bar. The ability to control the air ship in this manner appeared to give
Whitehead confidence, for he was seen to take time to look at the landscape about
him. He looked back and waved his hand exclaiming, ‘I’ve got it at last.’”

Finally, according to the report, as Whitehead neared the end of the field, he turned
off the motor and landed Number 21 “so lightly that Whitehead was not jarred in the
least.”2

Shortly after publication, the New York Herald, Boston Transcript, and The
Washington Times all ran a reprint of the article. Soon, it was being featured or
mentioned in newspapers around the world. On 21 September 1901, Collier’s
Weekly featured Whitehead and his flying machine, referencing the successful flight
of half a mile witnessed in the article. A couple moths later, The Evening
World featured a story on Whitehead and his accomplishments, quoting him as
saying “Within a year people will be buying airships as freely as they are buying
automobiles today and the sky will be dotted with figures skimming the air.” And in
December, the Cocino Sun called Gustave Whitehead the ‘inventor of the flying
machine.’

Gustave Whitehead and his daughter with Number 21

Gustave Whitehead and Number 22

Gustave Whitehead claimed another pair of successful flights in 1902, these ones
even more spectacular than his previous flights. He flew aircraft Number 22 for these
flights, and this aircraft featured some changes from 21. First, Number 22 had a new
engine. It was a five-cylinder, 40 hp kerosene engine of Whitehead’s own design,
versus Number 21‘s 20 hp engine. At 16 feet long (4.9 m), Number 22’s frame was
constructed mostly from steel and aluminum rather than bamboo. Details of the
flights were provided in a pair of letters that Whitehead sent to American
Inventor magazine.

The flights took place over Long Island Sound, the first covering a distance of 2 miles
(3.2 km) and the second covering a distance of 7 miles (11.2 km). The plane reached
heights of 200 feet (61 m), and owing to a boat-like fuselage, was able to be safely
landed in the water near the shore. Whitehead said steering was achieved through
varying the speed of the aircraft’s two propellers and use of a rudder. It was these
techniques that allowed him such a lengthy second flight.

Whitehead, in his letters, expressed a great sense of achievement: “… as I

successfully returned to my starting place with a machine hitherto untried and heavier
than air, I consider the trip quite a success. To my knowledge it is the first of its kind.
This matter has so far never been published.” He claimed photographs had been
taken of Number 22‘s flights, but they did not turn out due to the rainy and cloudy
weather. He told American Inventor“This coming Spring I will have photographs
made of Machine No. 22 in the air.” Excited by this prospect, the magazine replied
that they and their readers would “await with interest the promised photographs of
the machine in the air.” However, Whitehead never contacted them again, and never
provided photographs to anyone of Number 22 in flight.

Gustave Whitehead and Powered Glider Flights

And finally, in 1903, Gustave Whitehead claimed to have made several successful
glider flights. They were detailed in article that ran in Scientific American on 19
Septmeber 1903. Whitehead, piloting a triplane glider, was towed against the wind
by an assistant, using ropes. The glider had a 54 pound (24 kg) 12 hp engine that
ran a two blade propeller 4.5 feet (1.4 m) in diameter. The propeller was mounted to
the engine’s crankshaft in a tractor configuration, which meant that it pulled the
aircraft forward rather than pushed it from behind.

“By running with the machine against the wind after the motor had been started, the
aeroplane was made to skim along above the ground at heights of from 3 to 16 feet
for a distance, without the operator touching, of about 350 yards. It was possible to
have traveled a much longer distance, without the operator touching terra firma, but
for the operator’s desire not to get too far above it. Although the motor was not
developing its full power, owing to the speed not exceeding 1,000 R.P.M., it
developed sufficient to move the machine against the wind.”

Gustave Whitehead’s Fame Dies Down

Though his flights generated a lot of initial excitement and press, Gustave
Whitehead’s inability to supply photographs of the flights, or other conclusive
evidence, led to most people moving on. Whitehead, it seems, came to be viewed
as a dreamer and storyteller. Whitehead built his last three aircraft in 1908. He
stopped building, as did many others, when the Wright Brothers obtained injunctions
against other heavier than air aircraft manufacturing to protect their patents. To
continue flying, aviators were required to purchase a ridiculously expensive Wright
License (over $25,000) or purchase an aircraft manufactured by the Wright Brothers.
Whitehead did continue to design aircraft, moving instead to building helicopters,
which did not violate the Wright Brothers injunctions.

As with his aircraft, there are reports that some of his helicopters achieved some
form of flight, but no photographs or evidence exits of these flights. And though the
quality and success of his many aircraft was questioned, his engines were apparently
much more successful. According to British magazine Air Enthusiast, “Weisskopf’s
ability and mechanical skill could have made him a wealthy man at a time when there
was an ever-increasing demand for lightweight engines, but he was far more
interested in flying.” And though Whitehead never achieved great wealth from his
engines, they were widely admired and used.

His slide into obscurity was briefly arrested in 1913 when Glenn Curtiss referenced
his first flight claims during the Patent War with the Wright Brothers, but the courts
found against Whitehead due to a lack of evidence. A year or two later, Whitehead
lost an eye in a factory accident, also suffering a severe blow to the chest that is
thought to have contributed to an increasing number of angina attacks. He recovered
enough to go back to work, and in order to support his family, branched out his
research. He invented a breaking safety device for railcars, and an automatic
concrete laying machine, but neither invention brought in money. Whitehead
eventually started working in a factory and taking on more engine repair jobs.

On 10 October 1927, he died of a heart attack. He was attempting to lift an engine

out of an automobile he was repairing when it happened. As he suffered the attack,
Whitehead stumbled onto his front porch, then into his house, and finally fell over
dead.
Gustave Whitehead Supporters Keep His Legacy Alive
And that’s where Gustave Whitehead’s story might have ended, were it not for Stella
Randolph and Harvey Phillips. Randolph, a journalist, and Phillips, a connoisseur of
aviation history, co-wrote and published an article in Popular Aviation in 1935, with
the intriguing title “Did Whitehead Precede Wright In World’s First Powered Flight?”

Randolph and Phillips article painted the portrait of a long-suffering, hard working
man sadly passed over for the credit he deserved. Though not accusatory or
defamatory of Wright Brothers or other early aviators, it definitely came down on
Whitehead’s side. It mentioned a variety of people who claimed to have witnessed
Whitehead’s flights, and though it didn’t mention the Bridgeport Herald article
directly, it did mention a young reporter named MacNamara. MacNamara was
apparently a friend of Gustave Whitehead, and at that time, the editor of the
Bridgeport ‘Times’. This would seem to suggest him as another possible author of
the Herald article.

In December 1936, in response to the Popular Aviation article, Harvard University

economics professor John B. Crane issued his own article. Published in National
Aeronautic Magazine, his article disputed the claims that Whitehead flew. However,
a year later, after additional research, Crane had reversed his position. He now
believed that there was something to Whitehead’s claims, telling reporters, “There
are several people still living in Bridgeport who testified to me under oath, they had
seen Whitehead make flights along the streets of Bridgeport in the early 1900s.” He
suggested that the matter was worthy of a Congressional investigation.

In 1937, Randolph expanded the Popular Aviation article into a book, “Lost Flights of
Gustave Whitehead.” She had tracked down a variety of people who had known
Whitehead and claimed to have seen his flights. She was able to gather 16 affidavits
from 14 different people and included the text of those affidavits as part of the book.
4 of the 14 people providing affidavits said they did not see an actual flight, but swore
to their belief that they happened. The remaining 10 all swore to seeing flights,
ranging from forty or fifty feet to hundreds of feet and even more than a mile.
Randolph also stated in the book that she now believed Richard Howell to be the
author of the unsigned Herald article.

Here are some compelling excerpts from three of the affidavits, including Louis
Davarich, Whitehead’s co-pilot from the 1899 flight:

Affidavit: Louis Davarich – 14 July 1934:

“In approximately April or May, 1899, I was present and flew with Mr. Whitehead on
the occasion when he succeeded in flying his machine, propelled by steam motor,
on a flight of approximately a half mile distance, at a height of about 20 to 25 feet from
the ground. This flight occurred in Pittsburgh, and the type machine used by Mr.
Whitehead was a monoplane. We were unable to rise high enough to avoid a three-
story building in our path and when the machine fell I was scalded severely by the
steam, for I had been firing the boiler. I was obliged to spend several weeks in the
hospital, and I recall the incident of the flight very clearly. Mr. Whitehead was not
injured, as he had been in the front part of the machine steering it.”
Affidavit: Michael Werer – 24 September 1934

“On about Sept or Oct 1901 I was present on the occasion when Mr. Whitehead
succeeded in flying his machine, propelled by motor on a flight of about four hundred
feet, at about six feet off the ground, for a length of time approximating half minute.

The type of machine used by Mr. Whitehead was a folding wing Monoplane. This
flight took place on Tunxis Hill Road near Mountain Grove Cemetery, Bridgeport,
Connecticut.”

Affidavit by Junius Harworth – 21 August 1934:

“On August, fourteenth, Nineteen Hundred and One I was present and assisted on
the occasion when Mr. Whitehead succeeded in flying his machine, propelled by a
motor, to a height of two hundred feet off the ground or sea beach at Lordship Manor,
Connecticut. The distance flown was approximately one mile and a half.”
In 1949, Crane published a second article, this time in Air Affairs magazine, and
came out in support of the claims that Gustave Whitehead flew. Interestingly, this
second article makes no mention of his first article, and makes to effort to refute any
of the evidence he provided against Whitehead in his first article.

Things quieted down again for a while, until in 1963, when US Air Force Major William
O’Dwyer made an accidental discovery. He found a photograph collection in the attic
of a Connecticut residence that contained many images of a large ‘Albatross’ style
Whitehead biplane. O’Dwyer and some members of his squadron were asked by
the Connecticut Aeronautical Historical Association to look into Gustave
Whitehead’s stories, and try to determine if he had actually been able to make
powered flights or not.

O’Dwyer kept researching for years, becoming more and more convinced that
Whitehead had achieved flight before the Wright Brothers. Stella Randolph, working
on a second book about Whitehead, approached O’Dwyer about his research.
O’Dwyer gave her several interviews from people claiming to have seen the flights,
and she published this book ‘The Story of Gustave Whitehead, Before the Wrights
Flew’ in 1966.

In 1968, also based off this new research, Connecticut chose to officially recognize
Gustave Whitehead as the ‘Father of Connecticut Aviation.’ This didn’t sit well with
North Carolina. Holding to the Klingon proverb ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold,’
North Carolina waited 17 years to strike. But strike they did, when in 1985 the North
Carolina General Assembly passed a resolution repudiating the Connecticut claim:

“Whereas, North Carolina, is where aviation began. It is hallowed ground. The

events and accomplishments that occurred have been recorded through eighty-three
years of aviation history. It is where man’s first sustained, controlled, powered flight
happened at 10:35 a.m. on December 17, 1903…

Whereas, the North Carolina General Assembly repudiates the contention of a group
of Connecticut residents and that State’s Legislature, that Gustave Whitehead, a
resident of Bridgeport, Connecticut, was the first man to achieve sustained,
controlled flight in a heavier than air machine on August 14, 1901; and

Whereas, there is no historic fact, documentation, record or research to support the

claim that Gustave Whitehead flew before the Wright Brothers. The Whitehead claim
has been discounted by leading aviation historians and the world’s largest aviation
museum – The Smithsonian Institute…”

In 1975, O’Dwyer made another discovery, regarding a contract between the Wright
Brothers and the Smithsonian. In order to fully understand this contract, it’s
necessary to backtrack a little to 1901. Smithsonian secretary Samuel Langley was
working on building a full size version of his Aerodrome aircraft, when word of
Gustave Whitehead’s flights reached their ears. Whitehead’s aircraft Number 21 was
currently on display in Atlantic City, and Langley’s chief engineer, Charles H Manly,
was interested in the particulars of the aircraft. He didn’t believe the claims of flight,
so he dispatched FW Hodge, a staff clerk, to view Number 21. He requested Hodge
report on the size and dimension of the tail, wings, propellers, and the construction
of the propeller drive and the aircraft itself. Manly was also particularly interested in
the aircraft’s acetylene engine. After his viewing, it was Hodge’s opinion that
the Number 21 wasn’t airworthy.

Jumping ahead 9 years, Langley had failed in both of his attempts to fly the
Aerodrome, and the Wright Brothers were riding high. Orville offered the Smithsonian
the restored Wright Flyer 1 for display, but they instead turned to Glenn Curtiss
(currently engaged in a lawsuit with the Wright Brothers) to rebuild the Aerodrome to
its original specifications. Unknown to the general public, the Smithsonian team and
Curtiss made several major design improvements. In 1914, Curtiss and his team then
made several brief, successful flights with the rebuilt Aerodrome. After this, the
Smithsonian covertly restored the new craft to the original specifications, and then
put it on display as the first heavier than air craft that was capable of powered,
manned flight. Orville was extremely insulted and spent several years trying to get
the Smithsonian to change this, before finally shipping the restored Wright Flyer
1 overseas for display in London.

Shortly after Orville’s death in 1948, the Wright Flyer 1 was returned to the states and
found a home in the Smithsonian. However, there was a condition for being able to
display the plane:

“Neither the Smithsonian Institution or its successors nor any museum or other
agency, bureau or facilities, administered for the United States of America by the
Smithsonian Institution or its successors, shall publish or permit to be displayed a
statement or label in connection with or in respect of any aircraft model or design of
earlier date than the Wright Aeroplane of 1903, claiming in effect that such aircraft
was capable of carrying a man under its own power in controlled flight.”

Further, if the Smithsonian ever failed to keep this condition, the Wright family was
allowed to reclaim the Flyer. The Smithsonian agreed and signed the contract. Of
course, this agreement was never made public.

OK. Now back to 1975. O’Dwyer hears about the contract from Harold S. Miller, who
is serving as en executor to the estate of Orville Wright. O’Dwyer, with the help of
Connecticut US Senator Lowell Weicker, and the Freedom of Information Act, was
able to have the contract released to the public. This led to O’Dwyer and Stella
Randolph co-authoring the book ‘History by Contract’ (published in 1978), which
argued that the contract between the Smithsonian and the Wright’s estate unfairly
suppressed any recognition of Gustave Whitehead’s achievements. The book also
called for an immediate end to the contract3.

The Smithsonian claimed that the agreement was only put in place to end the feud
between them and the Wrights over the false Aerodrome claims. In 2005, Peter
Jakab, speaking for the Smithsonian, said:

“We would present as accurate a presentation of the history of the invention of the
airplane as possible, regardless of the consequences this might incur involving the
agreement. Having said that, however, at this time, as in 1948, there is no compelling
evidence that Whitehead or anyone else flew before the Wright brothers.”

The agreement still remains in effect today.

The Wright Flyer 1 on display at the Smithsonian

Finally, just two years ago, ‘Jane’s All the World’s Aircraft’ (a popular annual aviation
publication about the worldwide aviation industry) officially recognized Gustave
Whitehead as the first person in history to carry out a sustained, powered, and
controlled flight on 14 August 1901. This decision was based largely on research
carried out by Australian aviator John Brown. Brown, becoming aware of
Whitehead’s story and legacy in 2012, carried out his own extensive research on
Whitehead. He poured through articles, letters, testimonies and photos, becoming
more and more convinced Whitehead claims were true. And then he found what
many consider to be the ‘Smoking Gun.’

In 1906, Whitehead, along with the Wright Brothers, Octave Chanute, and others,
had been part of the first Aero Club of America exhibition in 1906. Included with his
material were photographs. And though those photographs have not been found,
there is an existing photograph of the exhibit hall. Brown, conducting what he
described as forensic analysis on the exhibit hall photograph, claims that one of the
photos in the Whitehead exhibit was indeed the ‘lost photo’ of Number 21 in flight,
the photo that inspired the drawing accompanying the article.

Connecticut, once more spurred on by this interest in Whitehead, took the

opportunity to again recognize his accomplishments. They enacted a law saying that
‘Powered Flight Day’ honor Gustave Whitehead rather than the Wright Brothers:

“This act requires (1) the governor to proclaim the following months and day of each
year to honor Americans of different ancestry and (2) suitable exercises to be held
in the State Capitol and elsewhere as the governor designates:
1. March as Irish-American Month,
2. October as Italian-American Month,
3. November as Native American Month, and
4. June 24 as French Canadian-American Day.
The act also establishes (1) the ballroom polka as the state polka and (2) Beautiful
Connecticut Waltz, composed by Joseph Leggo, as the second state song. It
specifies that Powered Flight Day is in honor of the first powered flight by Gustave
Whitehead, rather than the Wright Brothers.”

Also, someone really wanted the ballroom polka to get its proper recognition as well.
Though North Carolina hasn’t responded yet, expect something devious in about 10
– 12 years.

Gustave Whitehead’s Critics Respond

So, backed by respected figures like Randolph, O’Dwyer, Crane, Brown and others,
and given a large amount of solid evidence, is there really a doubt Gustave
Whitehead flew first? Well, yes. The Wright Brothers also have some impressive
supporters. These include, among others, aviation historians Charles Gibbs-Smith
and Caroll F Gray, and Thomas Crouch, senior curator in the Aeronautics
Department at the National Air and Space Museum. And they have done a significant
amount of work to cast doubt on the evidence for Gustave Whitehead, starting with
the Bridgeport Herald article.

According to Gray, the Herald article was not an original piece, but an embellished
reprint on a previously existing piece, and she makes a compelling argument for this
being the case:

“The June 9, 1901, New York Sun page two article presents a serious problem for
those who have promoted and defended the anonymous page five
Sunday Herald report of August 18, 1901 – the Sun story appeared ten weeks earlier
than the Sunday Herald’s article.

In short, it means that the Bridgeport Sunday Herald article was simply a broad re-
write of the earlier New York Sun article about tests made on May 3, 1901, which
was then grafted onto a number of previously printed articles, and combined with the
unsubstantiated ‘news’ about Texan William D. Custead and Gustave Whitehead
forming a partnership to build airships and airship powerplants.”

One of the two eyewitnesses the article cites, James Dickey, also later denied being
there. In a 1937 affidavit obtained by Stella Randolph, Dickie says he wasn’t present
at the flight, didn’t know who Andrew Cellie (the other eyewitness) was, and that as
far as he knew, none of Whitehead’s aircraft ever flew. O’Dwyer, who was in contact
with Dickey during his research in the 60s, claims that Dickey’s affidavit was
compromised by a grudge against Whitehead:

“… his mood changed to anger when I asked him about Gustave Whitehead. He
flatly refused to talk about Whitehead, and when I asked him why, he said: ‘That SOB
never paid me what he owed me. My father had a hauling business and I often
hitched up the horses and helped Whitehead take his airplane to where he wanted
to go. I will never give Whitehead credit for anything. I did a lot of work for him and
he never paid me a dime.’”
Randolph was unable to find Andrew Cellie4 for comment.

In 1945, Gustave Whitehead’s son Charles gave an interview on a national radio

program, and was called the son of the first man to fly. This claim was further
spotlighted by a Reader’s Digest article shortly after. This article stirred none other
than Orville Wright into action, who wrote a scathing rebuttal that appeared in the
August 1945 issue of US Air Services. He based much of his response on the
testimonies of three people: James Dickie, Stanley Beach and John Dvorak. Dvorak,
a physics professor, had hired Gustave Whitehead to build an engine from Dvorak’s
plans5:

“I personally do not believe that Whitehead ever succeeded in making any airplane
flights. Here are my reasons: 1. Whitehead did not possess sufficient mechanical
skill and equipment to build a successful motor. 2. Whitehead was given to gross
exaggeration. He was eccentric – a visionary and a dreamer to such an extent that
he actually believed what he merely imagined. He had delusions.”

As previously noted, Dickie appears to have had a grudge against Whitehead, and it
appears Beach (the editor of Scientific American) may have held a grudge as well,
which we’ll get into shortly. Orville, and many critics since, have used this statement
from Beach against Whitehead:

“I do not believe that any of his machines ever left the ground under their own power
in spite of the assertions of many persons who think they saw him fly.”

Interestingly, Beach did concede some credit, adding that Gustave Whitehead:

“…deserves a place in early aviation, due to his having gone ahead and built
extremely light engines and aeroplanes. The five-cylinder kerosene one, with which
he claims to have flown over Long Island Sound on 17 January 1902 was, I believe,
the first aviation Diesel.”

In the late 50’s, London-based aviation researcher Charles Gibbs-Smith stepped in

the arena. After pouring through all the available material, he found in favor of the
Wright Brothers, saying that reports that Gustave Whitehead achieved successful
flight before the Wrights were fabrications.

“Unfortunately, some of those who advanced [Whitehead’s] claims were more intent
on discrediting the Wright brothers than on establishing facts.”

He also said that no reputable historian believed Whitehead’s claims and that if
Gustave Whitehead had experienced true success, he would have had widespread
recognition.

Nick Engler, who runs an educational website on the Wright Brothers, had this to
say:

“While Whitehead believers insist that he was first to fly, no one claims that his work
had any effect on early aviation or the development of aeronautic science. Even if
someone someday produces a photo of No. 21 in flight on August 14, 1901, it will be
nothing more than a footnote, a curious anomaly in the history of aviation.”

Speaking of photos, Gray again came out swinging when John Brown released his
analysis of the 1906 exhibit hall photo. She released her own analysis, concluding
that the photo in question was of a different aircraft altogether, John J. Montgomery’s
glider The California.

“This identification of the Blurry Image as Montgomery glider The California on May
21st of 1905 at Agricultural Park ought to cause Mr. Brown to retract both his
“forensic” examination and his conclusion as to what the Blurry Image shows. The
Blurry Image does not show Gustave Whitehead in flight in 1901. Somehow, it
seems doubtful Mr. Brown will be willing to admit his mistake, as he has so much
invested in his “forensic” examination of the Blurry Image.”

Also in response to Brown’s research and Jane’s proclamation of Gustave

Whitehead as the aviator to achieve first flight, Tom Crouch fired off an article of his
own, reaching this conclusion:

“My conclusion–either Whitehead had somehow forgotten the secrets of flight, or he

had never flown a powered machine at all.

In its issue of December 26, 1903, just three months after Scientific American had
reported Whitehead’s experiments with an obsolete hang glider, the journal noted
that the brothers Wilbur and Orville Wright had made some “successful experiments”
with a powered flying machine operating under the complete control of a pilot. Unlike
Whitehead, who had kept virtually no record his experiments, the Wrights had
documented their work in detailed, notebooks, letters, and photographs, including
what is arguably the most famous photograph ever taken.

I rest my case.”

Can Someone Both Support and Work Against Gustave

Whitehead?
Which brings us back to Stanley Beach. Beach, in the early days, was a friend of
Gustave Whitehead. Several articles published in Scientific American talk of
Whitehead and his aircraft. The first, in June of 1901, makes mention of Whitehead’s
tests. And though it doesn’t mention flight, multiple articles in 1903, 1906 and 1908
state that Whitehead had achieved ‘short flights’ and flown ‘short distances’ in 1901.
At least some of these articles, though published without an author credit, were later
claimed by Beach.

However, in 1905, Beach and Whitehead submitted a patent for a monoplane glider.
This patent was granted in 1908, and Whitehead built the glider, which was unable
to fly because it was underpowered and too heavy. When Whitehead told Beach that
he felt the design was faulty and couldn’t be made to work, Beach had men take the
aircraft from Whitehead’s workshop. After this, their relationship became rocky, and
Beach started associating with the Wright Brothers. Many of Beach’s later critical
statements about Gustave Whitehead contradict what he said earlier, and what was
written in the articles.

OK, OK, but what about Karl Jatho and Richard Pearse?
Who, you may ask? Well, Jatho and Pearse are two other contemporaries of Gustave
Whitehead and the Wright Brothers who may have achieved flight around the same
time. I know, I know, it’s not like the question of first flight wasn’t already tangled
enough. Karl Jatho was a German inventor and aviation pioneer. In 1903, from
August through November, Jatho made a series of progressively longer flights at
Vahrenwalder Heide, near Hanover. He started flying a ‘pusher’ style Triplane, and
then moved to a biplane.

Karl Jatho’s biplane

His first flight was uncontrolled, and only about 60 feet (18 m) at an altitude of 3 feet
(1 m). By November (1 month earlier than the Wright Brothers), he could fly about
195 feet (60 m) at an altitude of roughly 10 feet (3 m). Eventually, discouraged by his
results, Jatho gave up, noting:

“In spite of many efforts, (I) cannot make longer or higher flights. Motor weak.”

After discontinuing his flight experiments, Jatho founded both a flying school and an
aircraft factory. However, he did not enjoy success with either of these ventures.

So that leaves Richard Pearse. An inventor and aviator in New Zealand, Pearse
began attempting flights in 1901, but his engines lacked the power to lift his craft for
more than brief ‘hops’. Pearse then designed and built a new engine, this one a two
cylinder ‘oil engine’. This was mounted on a tricycle undercarriage, which had a
bamboo wing structure and air frame covered in linen. This design, interestingly,
resembled modern aircraft more than the Wright Brother’s design. It was a
monoplane rather than biplane, used a tractor propeller rather than a pusher
propeller, had the stabilizers and elevators located at the rear of the aircraft rather
than the front, and used ailerons for controlling banking rather than wing warping.
Replicas of Pearse’s engine suggest that it was capable of producing about 15 hp.
Using this new craft, witnesses claim Pearse was able to make at least four flights:

Flight 1 – 31 March 1903. Pearse covered an estimated distance of 1,050 feet (320
m) in a straight line, with poor control, before landing.

Flight 2 – Sometime after the first flight, before May 1903. Pearse made another
successful flight, of about 450 feet (137 m).

Flight 3 – 2 May 1903. Pearse took off, traveled a short, but unknown distance, and
crashed into a gorse hedge (a thick hedge with nasty spines).

Flight 4 – 11 May 1903. Pearse took off from a sight alongside the Opihi River, about
4.3 m (7 km) outside the town of Temuka. He was able to gain enough altitude to
turn left and clear the 30 foot (9 m) river bank, then turn right, and fly parallel to the
bank over the middle of the river. After Pearse flew for nearly 3,000 feet (914 m), the
engine on his aircraft began to overheat, and he was forced to land in the mostly dry
riverbed.

Replica of Richard Pearse’s aircraft

So why is so little known about Pearse? In addition to working in the relatively small
and remote New Zealand aviation industry, Pearse’s work was poorly documented.
There were no contemporary newspaper articles or coverage of his flights, few
photographs survived, and the ones that did are undated and often blurry or
otherwise difficult to tell exactly what is going on. Pearse was also somewhat
eccentric and made conflicting statements about his flights, often confusing
historians and making dates hard to pin down. And though he had many modern
notions of aircraft design, such as ailerons, and lightweight air-cooled engines, his
impact on the field of aviation was small, due to his remote location and lack of
records.

Though he continued experimenting, inventing, and building well into the 1940s,
Pearse eventually became more and more erratic, believing that foreign spies were
after his research. He was eventually committed to a mental hospital in 1951, where
he died two years later. It is believed that much of his research was destroyed around
this time.

And so? The Upshot of All This First Flight Controversy?

It seems fairly certain that the Wright Brothers were not the first to achieve powered,
manned flight. Even on Nick Engler’s website devoted to the Wright Brothers, you
can find this:

“While the Wright brothers may have been the first to make a sustained, controlled
flight, they were just two among hundreds of brave men and women who helped to
give the world its wings during the earliest days of aviation.”

As the quote suggests, however, they may have been the first to achieve sustainable,
repeatable, and controllable powered flight. Which, according to many historians, is
what actually matters. And it’s hard to discount the momentous achievement of their
flights, and their impact on aviation, even in the face of their extremely litigious nature
and occasionally, well, jerkish behavior.

Gustave Whitehead and others, however, also have fascinating stories, and strong
claim to some of the fame and fortune the Wright Brothers enjoyed. There exist a
vast collection of additional pieces of evidence and other claims from both sides,
including a rumored meeting between Gustave Whitehead and the
Wright Brothers in 1901 or 026. One could spend months reading, researching, and
gathering opinions and evidence from both sides, and still not reach the bottom.

So who did achieve the first manned, powered flight in a heavier than air aircraft?
We may never know for sure. But one thing that is certain is that these early aviators
poured themselves, their energy, and their passion into the field of aviation, and
achieved incredible, monumental feats, worthy of our respect and admiration.

Footnotes:

1 – During 1901, Gustave Whitehead built 56 aircraft. He was not in the habit of
naming them, so they were simply known by their number.

2 – In the first letter Gustave Whitehead sent American Inventor magazine later that
year, he indicated this was only one of four successful test flights that day, the longest
being an estimated 1.5 miles (2.4 km).

3 – George Gunther, a Connecticut state senator from 1966-2006, says that History
by Contract was far too heavy handed. He claims to have been having encouraging
conversations with the Smithsonian regarding Gustave Whitehead, and possibly
restoring some credit to him. However, after they were blasted by O’Dwyer and
Randolph in the book, the Smithsonian decided they were no longer interested in
giving Whitehead any credit.

4 – O’Dwyer, during his research, came to the conclusion that Andrew Cellie was
never found due to the newspaper misspelling his name. He believes it was actually
Andrew Suelli, an immigrant and Gustave Whitehead’s neighbor in Pittsburgh.
Though he had long since died, O’Dwyer was able to find neighbors of Suelli who
said that he always claimed he was present during Whitehead’s 1901 flight.

5 – Junius Harworth, Gustave Whitehead’s assistant at the time, claimed in an

affidavit that the engine failed because Dvorak insisted on using his own design.
According to Harworth, Dvorak lacked the mechanical skill to make a good engine.

6 – Gustave Whitehead’s supporters claim the Wrights, who viewed Whitehead’s

aircraft, stole many of their ideas for the Wright Flyer from this meeting. The Wright’s
supporters say the meeting never took place, and the Wright’s themselves say that
the first time they came through Bridgeport was in 1909.

Sources:

In addition to the links scattered throughout the articles, here are some other links I
found fascinating and useful in my research of this story:

– This link from historian Nick Engler’s site provides you with the text for four
important articles in the Gustave Whitehead v. Wright Brothers debate: The Stella
Randolph / Harvey Phillips Popular Aviation article; the original Bridgeport Herald
article, with accompanying pictures; Gustave Whitehead’s letters to the American
Inventor magazine; and John Crane’s original 1936 article against Gustave
Whitehead:

//www.wright-
brothers.org/History_Wing/History_of_the_Airplane/Who_Was_First/Gustav_White
head/Whitehead_Articles.htm

Engler, Nick. “Whitead Articles” Wright Brothers Aeroplane Company. n.d.

Bookworks, Inc. Web. 30 January 2015.

And from the same site is a Wright leaning view of Gustave Whitehead:

//www.wright-
brothers.org/History_Wing/History_of_the_Airplane/Who_Was_First/Gustav_White
head/Gustav_Whitehead.htm

Engler, Nick. “Gustav Whitehead” Wright Brothers Aeroplane Company. n.d.

Bookworks, Inc. Web. 1 February 2015.

– And here you can find a site with material squarely in Gustave Whitehead’s corner:

//www.gustave-whitehead.com/
Also, another great resource on this site is their collection of affidavits supporting
Gustave Whitehead and his claims of first flight:

//www.gustave-whitehead.com/history/witness-statements/

– Wikipedia has very helpful pages for both Gustave Whitehead

(//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gustave_Whitehead) and the Wright Brothers
(//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wright_brothers) though some people have claimed the
Gustave Whitehead wiki is edited with a Wright slant.

Octave Chanute’s Contributions Had a Far-Reaching Impact

on Aviation
Most people who have as profound an impact on an area of study or an industry like
Octave Chanute did on aviation tend to spend most or all of their lives involved in
that pursuit. But for Chanute, though he became interested in aviation at a young
age, it wasn’t until his late 50s that he was able to start actually pursuing his interest
in aviation, and his 60s before he began the flying experiments and glider testing for
which he is most often remembered. But in the roughly 21 years he was heavily
involved in aviation, he had an immense influence on the field of study just as it was
preparing to take flight. His engineering and design work was highly detailed and well
documented, and among others, he served as a mentor to the Wright Brothers,
providing guidance, information, and advice as they moved toward their monumental
first flight at the end of 1903.

And though it’s tempting to jump past the first two-thirds of Chanute’s life to focus on
his time in aviation, it’s important to understand how that part of his life allowed him
to make such incredible contributions to aviation. So, as with most stories, let’s start
at the beginning.

Octave Chanute’s Early Life

Octave Chanute was born in 1832, in Paris (France, and not Paris, Idaho; Paris,
Maine; Paris, Texas; or any of the other many Paris pretenders.) In 1838 he
immigrated to the United States as a young boy with his father Joseph Chanute, a
professor at the College de France. His father made the move in order to accept the
position as Vice-President at Jefferson College in Louisiana. Young Octave Chanute
was able to attend private schools in New York, and in 1848, at the relatively young
age of 16 and already showing a talent for engineering, he began training as a civil
engineer.

He reportedly began working his first job in 1849, as a member of a surveying crew
working with the Hudson River Railroad. From this position, he worked his way up
through a series of railroad engineering positions, each with increasing responsibility.
It’s a little after this time period, in 1856, that Chanute apparently first became
interested in aviation when he watched a balloon take off in Illinois.
Octave Chanute’s Incredible Contributions to Railroads

I’ve had a little trouble tracking down exact dates, but from what I can tell, Octave
Chanute retired from official railroad work in 1883, leaving a position with Erie
Railway. He did, however, continue to serve as an independent engineering
consultant until 1889, when he moved on from that as well to focus solely on
aviation. Now, during his time in the railroad industry, Chanute had a large
influence and accomplished an impressive amount.

Among his accomplishments was designing and construction of the Chicago

Stockyards (1865) and Kansas City Stockyards (1871), the two biggest stockyards
in the US, and the Hannibal Bridge (1869), the first bridge across the Missouri River.
The bridge, in particular, helped establish Kansas City as the dominant city in that
region.

But perhaps his most important contribution to railroads was helping to preserve
them. Chanute was concerned by how often railroad ties needed to be replaced,
which was a contributing factor to the clearing of American forests. So he invented a
procedure that used an antiseptic to pressure treat wooden railway ties so they would
last longer during commercial use. The increase in the lifespan of the railroad ties
and savings to railway companies was significant enough that he was able to
convince them to adopt this process. Chanute also discovered the railway date nail
in Europe and introduced it to the US as a way to track the age and longevity of the
railroad ties and other wooden structures.

Progress in Flying Machines and Turning to Aviation

Spending his lifetime as an engineer provided Chanute with two very important
advantages when it came to aviation. First, both his railroad related inventions and
engineering jobs left him financially well off, and able to fund both his research and
the building of experimental gliders and aircraft. And second, it greatly enhanced
Chanute’s ability to obtain precise results and work tirelessly on any project he put
his mind to.

So, aided by his background in engineering, Chanute began by collecting all the
available flight test and experimentation data from around the world. He then added
to it with his own insight as a civil engineer, and published his finding in a series of
articles from 1891 to 1893 in The Railroad and Engineering Journal. These were then
re-published in 1894 as a complete manuscript, Progress in Flying Machines. At that
time, this was the most complete, exhaustively detailed survey of global aviation
research anyone had produced.

Chanute was very generous and shared his work with all who requested it. He
corresponded with aviation pioneers and researchers from around the world,
including Otto Lilienthal, Louis Bleriot, Alberto Santos-Dumont, Lawrence
Hargrave and John J. Montgomery. Eventually, after they read his book Progress in
Flying Machines, Chanute also began corresponding with the Wright Brothers, and
we’ll focus more on that a little later.

Testing and Building Gliders

Octave Chanute felt it was premature to install a motor onto a flying machine until
reliable stability could be obtained. Safety, balance, and stability were his initial
goals, and with this in mind, in December of 1895, Chanute met with Augustus
Herring. A fellow engineer, Herring had already been conducting aviation
experiments for some time. Together, the two of them developed a multi-wing glider
design. In order to test the stability of the design, they developed a kite version of it
first. The kite proved to incredibly stable, even in gusty winds, so they decided to
build the glider version, capable of carrying a man.

The Lilienthal inspired glider

This multi-wing design represented something new and unknown, so Chanute and
Herring also rebuilt a glider previously tested by Herring that was based at least in
part on Lilienthal’s glider design. With these two gliders in tow, Chanute and Herring
set out for the sand dunes at the south end of Lake Michigan, about thirty miles from
Chicago. They were accompanied by two assistants, a Mr. Avery and Mr. Butusov.

Now 64 years old, Chanute decided not to serve as a pilot in any test flights himself,
but rather use this opportunity to record flight data and observations as his assistants
handled the flying. The Lilienthal style glider was tested first. They made an
estimated 100 glides, the longest reaching 116 feet. However, lacking Lilienthal’s
years of experience with the design, the glider proved awkward for them to handle.
The Lilienthal glider was set aside, and they moved on to the multi-wing glider.1
The multi-wing glider

The multi-wing glider featured six pairs of wings that were trussed together and would
pivot from the base on a central frame. The pilot was expected to move only for the
purpose of steering, while the wings maintained stability by pivoting back and forth
above him. The gigantic glider swerved so violently the first day of testing that they
had to adjust the wing placement. The multi-wing glider would go through six
additional versions, the changes in each version prompted by data gathered from the
flights. After some 200 glides were made with this glider design, they decided it was
time to rebuild it using the information they’d obtained.

So in mid-July, after two weeks of tests, they returned to Chicago. Chanute and
Herring designed and built three new gliders: a rebuilt multi-wing glider, a new
biplane glider, and an “Albatross” glider. Not wanting to waste time, they returned to
the sand dunes towards the end of August and started testing the three new gliders.

The Second Phase of Glider Testing

The redesigned multi-wing glider

Up first was the re-built multi-wing glider. The wings were now attached to a new
frame using ball bearings instead of ordinary pivots, and the wings were trussed
together using a Pratt truss.2 This re-built glider proved more successful over a series
of glides, more than doubling the results from the previous test flights. And though
the glider design was deemed sound, they decided it could benefit from further
refinement.

Next, they tested the biplane style glider. Much simpler in construction, it featured a
single intersection Pratt truss carrying the two wing surfaces, to which Herring
applied a regulating device. The glider was capable of supporting 300 to 400 pounds
on the arm bars in the center. This proved to be a very successful design, and
hundreds of glides were made in it during the six weeks of testing.

The Chanute-Herring Biplane glider

Amazingly, no accidents occurred during the testing of this glider, and towards the
end of testing, even some amateurs were allowed to fly it under supervision.
The Albatross glider

Finally, it was time for the Albatross glider. This glider required both trestle work built
down the hill slope and wind blowing straight up the trestle to launch, which limited
the flight testing capabilities. Two tests were made, but using ballast instead of a
pilot, as they were unsure how stable it would be. The first launch went well, though
it didn’t fly very far and some of the ribs in the frame were cracked on landing. They
replaced the ribs and launched it again, but an unfavorable wind swung the glider
around, and one of the wings struck a tree. The Albatross was broken, and it was
decided it was too cumbersome a design to be useful in their flight testing.

This biplane glider, often referred to as the “Chanute-Herring biplane” or “Chanute-

Herring biplane glider,” was refined and put through more testing in 1897. All in all, it
is estimated that during the glider testing period on 1896-1897, Chanute conducted
more than seven hundred successful glider flights.

Meeting the Wright Brothers

The Chanute-Herring biplane glider served as an inspiration for the Wright Bother’s
own glider design, and in 1900, Wilbur Wright began corresponding with Octave
Chanute after reading Progress in Flying Machines. This correspondence grew into
a friendship, with the Wright Brothers seeking advice from Chanute, often
incorporating his design suggestions. Chanute even gave them advice on where to
stage test flights, telling them to seek out a sandy area with strong prevailing winds,
which led them to select Kitty Hawk, North Carolina as their test site. Chanute visited
their camp in Kitty Hawk multiple times between 1901 and 1903
 During this period, in
1902, Chanute also tested another glider design, the Three-Surface Oscillating-Wing
Folding Glider. The glider was built by an experienced designer named Charles
Lamson in Long Beach, California. However, the glider was only tested for a single
day in the fall of 1902, with Herring as the sole operator. Apparently not impressed
with the results, the glider was put into storage in the Wright Brother’s workshop.

Chanute also served an important role in publicizing the Wright’s experiments,

especially in Europe through his overseas contacts. However, in 1905, the Wright
Brothers and Octave Chanute had a falling out. Chanute shared his aviation
knowledge freely and expected others to follow suit, something that caused friction
with the Wrights. They believed their ideas on flight control were unique and were
not interested in sharing them. And after seeking a patent on the Wright flying
machine, and starting to sue anyone infringing on the patent, Chanute expressed his
opinion in a newspaper interview:

“I admire the Wrights. I feel friendly toward them for the marvels they have achieved,
but you can easily gauge how I feel concerning their attitude at present by the remark
I made to Wilbur Wright recently. I told him I was sorry to see they were suing other
experimenters and abstaining from entering the contests and competitions in which
other men are brilliantly winning laurels. I told him that in my opinion they are wasting
valuable time over lawsuits which they ought to concentrate in their work. Personally,
I do not think that the courts will hold that the principle underlying the warping tips
can be patented.”

Sadly, in November of 1910, Octave Chanute passed away at the age of 78 after a
bout of pneumonia. Though some sources have claimed that Chanute reconciled
with the Wrights before his death, or they were working on a reconciliation, aviation
historian Simine Short (who wrote a book about Chanute) says this is not the case,
though Wilbur Wright did attend a memorial service held in honor of Chanute.

Octave Chanute’s Legacy

Octave Chanute in 1908

It has been reported that during his first decade of flight exploration, Chanute kept
his experiments hidden and would even apologize for his interest in flying. He was
concerned that those around him might think his passion for aviation was merely the
pursuit of a crazed, retired old man. Historians believe this may be one of the driving
forces behind his constant need to record and validate each flight attempt. By leaving
a detailed record of his thought processes and comparing them with what was
successful and unsuccessful in the past, Chanute could validate his work and interest
in aviation.

Whatever the reason may be, Chanute’s detailed records and passion for flight
resulted in a far-reaching and lasting impact on aviation. The January 1911 edition
of Popular Mechanicsreferred to him as “the father of aviation.” A grand title, to be
sure, but after spending a good deal of time researching Chanute it’s one that isn’t
undeserved. I think the two things that impress me the most about Chanute’s story
are his age and his level of success. He involvement in aviation didn’t begin until his
late 50s, and yet he took to it with seemingly limitless energy. He researched,
compiled, collected, and shared an incredible amount of information, while also
designing gliders and taking part in literally hundreds of glider tests. In a roughly
twenty-year time span, he accomplished more than many did in an entire lifetime.
And this was after a massively successful career as a railroad engineer, including
pioneering work in preserving wood.

Octave Chanute is an astounding figure in aviation, and I feel it fitting to close this
article with the final lines from Progress in Flying Machines:
… let us hope that the advent of a successful flying machine, now only
dimly foreseen and nevertheless thought to be possible, will bring
nothing but good into the world; that it shall abridge distance, make
all parts of the globe accessible, bring men into closer relation with
each other, advance civilization, and hasten the promised era in
which there shall be nothing but peace and good-will among all men.
Footnotes:

1 – Within about 6 weeks of Chanute and Herring moving on from this glider design,
Lilienthal was severely injured in a gliding accident, dying from his injuries the
following day.

2 – This is thought to be the first use of a Pratt truss in the design of a flying machine.

Sources:

Wikipedia

Flying Machines

Mississippi Statue University

National Aviation Hall of Fame

Encyclopedia Britannica

Illinois Periodicals Online

The Chanute Pages

Roger Launius

Books on the Subject:

Locomotive to Aeromotive – Simine Short

A Dream of Wings, Tom Crouch

First Flight: The Early Aviators

The dream of flying is as old as humankind itself. Throughout our history, we have
struggled to achieve flight. And it wasn’t until fairly recently in our history that we
achieved the first flight. We started with balloons, followed with gliders, and
eventually developed powered aircraft. The story of this achievement is a fascinating
one, with many players such as the Wright Brothers being well established. However,
their historic first flight at Kitty Hawk in 1903 may not have actually been the first
powered flight. In this three part series, Disciples of Flight is going to look at the
question of who achieved the first flight with a powered aircraft. In part one, First
Flight: The Early Aviators, we will look at the development of flight leading up to the
Wright Brothers. Part two, First Flight: the Wright Brothers, will give a brief history of
the brothers, and cover their first flight. And part three, First Flight: Gustave
Whitehead, will cover the bold claims of Gustave Whitehead, and others, to first flight.

The Dawn of Aviation and Dream of First Flight

Human study of aviation began with the study of birds – the Earth’s true natural
aviators. Ancient times are littered with stories of people who built wings that
strapped to their arms and attempted to take flight. And much like the myth of Icarus,
most of these attempts at first flight ended in tragedy. The trouble was that birds were
designed for flight, with wings, feathers, light bodies, and hollow bones. They were
made to soar through the air. But for heavy, clumsy humans, taking to the air was
not going to be an easy accomplishment.

The study of aircraft began around 500 BC, with the ancient Chinese and Japanese
civilizations both developing and using kites. This represented mankind’s first flight.
And though this first flight was unmanned, it still served as a very important step in
the design and testing of later aircraft. A couple hundred years later, the Chinese
developed the world’s first hot air balloons, called Sky Lanterns. Their invention is
generally credited to military strategist Zhuge Liang, who used a sky lantern to deliver
a message requesting reinforcements during a battle in which he was surrounded.

In the centuries that followed, men continued testing various aircraft, gliders and yes,
wings attached to their bodies, in the quest for manned first flight. Many of these
original aviation pioneers clearly did not subscribe to the popular jest, “If God wanted
me to fly he would have given me wings.” Finally, in the 15th century, things started
to really get serious with scientist and researcher Leonardo Da Vinci.
A design for da Vinci’s Ornithopter.

Da Vinci designed many flying machines, powered by a variety different methods.

One of his most notable was called an ornithopter, a machine that worked by flapping
wings (apparently, we really wanted to fly by flapping wings). In the 17th century,
Isaac Newton and other scientists and researchers began exploring aerodynamics
and the physics of flight.

We just knew flight was possible and continued to work at it, deciding it was only
going to be a matter of time until we could make a manned first flight.

The Montgolfier Brothers Achieve First Flight in a Balloon

Finally, in 1783, the Mongolfier Brothers made that first flight. Beginning in 1777,
Joseph and Jacques began experimenting with hot air. Joseph had observed laundry
drying over a fire, and how it created pockets in the fabric that billowed upward.
Convinced that smoke contained a special, buoyant gas he dubbed ‘Montgolfier Gas‘
(because hey, why not?), he built a box like structure out of wood. It was roughly 3
feet x 3 feet x 4 feet (1 m x 1 m x 1.3 m), and he covered the frame with lightweight
taffeta cloth. He lit a fire under the bottom of the box, and it lifted off its stand,and
rose to the ceiling.

Joseph contacted his brother, Jacques, writing “Get in a supply of taffeta and of
cordage, quickly, and you will see one of the most astonishing sights in the world.”
Together, the brothers constructed a similar box, roughly 3 times larger. They were
so surprised and unprepared for the lifting power of this box that they lost control of
it during their first test. It floated some 1.2 miles (2 km) before crashing to the Earth.
The brothers decided the next step was a public demonstration, so they could
establish a claim on this new invention.

The Montgolfier Brothers refined their cubic design into a globe shaped frame
covered in sackcloth, with three thin paper layers inside. This new balloon could hold
roughly 28,000 cubic feet (790 cubic meters) of air. On 4 June 1783, they held the
first public demonstration. The balloon flew 1.2 miles (2 km) over a period of about
10 minutes, at an estimated altitude of between 5,200 – 6,600 feet (1,600 – 2,000
m).

Word of this flight spread quickly, and the Montgolfier Brothers decided to build an
even larger balloon. Working with wallpaper manufacturer Jean-Baptiste Réveillon,
this new balloon had a 37,500 cubic foot (1060 cubic meter) interior,and was covered
with taffeta varnished in alum, which had fireproofing qualities. King Louis XVI of
France suggested this demonstration be manned, and offered up a pair of criminals
for the uncertain job. The Montgolfier Brothers declined, instead deciding to send up
a sheep, duck, and rooster. The flight took place before a crowd at the royal palace
in Versailles (including the King and Queen) and was a great success. The balloon
flew for approximately 8 minutes, covering 2 miles (3.2 km) at an altitude of about
1,500 feet (460 m). The balloon landed safely, delivering a trio of unharmed but likely
thoroughly confused and terrified animal passengers back to Earth.

The success of this demonstration led to a third balloon being built, with a 60,000
cubic foot (1,700 cubic meter) capacity. The balloon was roughly 75 feet (22.9 m) tall
and 50 feet (15.2 m) in diameter. On 15 October 1783, Jacques went up in the
balloon, achieving manned first flight. This was followed by many additional flights
and tests, including the first female aeronaut, Elisabeth Thible, in 1784.

Over the years, ballooning evolved to include the use of hydrogen gas (though not
always with the best results), and despite never becoming a primary, sustained
means of air transportation, it has earned it place in history, and still enjoys
recreational pursuit.

First Flight with a Glider

Next came George Cayley in 1799. This prolific British engineer, who is hailed as
“The Father of the Aeroplane”, is widely considered one of the most influential people
in the field of aviation. He seems to have been the first to really grasp the underlying
aerodynamic principles of flight. He was the first to identify the four forces of drag,
weight, lift, and thrust, and gained great acclaim with his landmark three-part treatise
“On Aerial Navigation.”

In 1804, Cayley designed the first model glider with the layout of a more modern
aircraft. His glider had a fixed main wing and movable tail surfaces. The aerodynamic
concept he set forth here was that the aircraft must have a fixed wing for gliding and
direction, and a separate system for propulsion, control, and lift. In 1853, he was able
to build a full sized glider that successfully carried his footman across Brompton Dale.
This was the first flight in history with a manned glider.

First Flight with a Powered, Manned Aircraft

Felix du Temple followed in 1874. A French Naval Officer, du Temple built the first
Monoplane made of aluminum. This plane had a wingspan of 42 feet (13 meters)
and had an empty weight of 176 pounds (80 kg). There are many people that credit
du Temple with the first powered, manned flight. His steam-powered monoplane,
after running down a ramp, sputtered through the air for a few brief moments before
returning to Earth. Certainly not as impressive as later flights, but this predated the
Wright Brothers by some 27 years.
A drawing of Felix Du Temple’s monoplane design, said to have achieved powered first flight.

Du Temple was followed by another French engineer and inventor, Clement Ader.
Ader created a flying machine he dubbed ‘Éole‘. This bat-inspired design was
powered by a lightweight steam engine of Ader’s making. The 4 cylinder engine,
weighing roughly 140 pounds, produced about 20 hp and drove a four blade
propeller. The Éolehad a wingpsan of 46 feet (14 m), and a weight of 650 pounds
(300 kg). On 9 October 1890, Ader made an attempt to fly Éole, and it’s accepted
that the aircraft took off, reached a height of roughly 8 inches (20 cm) and flew
uncontrolled for about 160 feet (50 m). This flight predated the Wright Brothers by 13
years.

A photo of Ader’s machine in (brief) flight.

In 1893, German aviation pioneer Otto Lilienthal, later dubbed the Glider King, made
hundreds of successful glider flights, gliding distances of up to 820 feet (250 m).
What Lilienthal achieved that all the inventors and gliders before him couldn’t was
consistency. He could repeat his flights over and over again. This fact gave him a
kind of viability and credibility in the young but rapidly growing science of aeronautics.
Tragically, Lilienthal died in 1896, after his glider stalled and he was unable to regain
control. Falling from a height of about 50 feet (15 m), he broke his neck. His legacy,
however, was strong, and the Wright Brothers cited his work as a primary influence
on their decision to pursue aviation.
Otto Lilienthal tests one of his glider designs.

There was also the US astronomer and aviator Samuel P Langley. After successfully
flying many Aerodromemodels, he built a full-sized, steam powered one with a 50 hp
engine 1893. Sadly, on both attempted flights, the Aerodrome was damaged during
launch, and Langley never achieved successful flight.

A 1/4 scale model of Langley’s aerodrome design.

Around the turn of the century, a new host of players enters the scene, and things
start to get a little muddled. There are, of course, Orville and Wilbur Wright. There
are also the controversial and hard-to-ignore claims of Gustave Whitehead, and a
pair of lesser-known aviators to consider: Karl Jatho, and Richard Pearse. These
other men, it seems, may have as much claim to the first powered flight as the Wright
Brothers. But wait, you might say, what about du Temple and Ader? Didn’t they beat
everybody?

Well, yes. But according to aviation historian Charles Harvard Gibbs-Smith, the
Wrights still deserve the credit. He writes that “a barn door can be made to ‘fly’ for a
short distance if enough energy is applied to it” and dismisses Ader, du Temple and
others as having achieved ‘powered hops’, and not sustainable, controllable,
repeatable flight, as the Wright Brothers did.

The story will continue in First Flight: The Wright Brothers, where we’ll cover some
history on the Wright Brothers and their landmark 120 foot powered flight on 17
December 1903, and conclude with First Flight: Gustave Whitehead, where we’ll take
a look at others aviators pursuing powered, manned flight at the same time as the
Wright Brothers.