International photographer (Jan-Dec 1941)

Up llM ThE AIR All names used in this story are purely fictitious. The S. S. Alexander has just passed through the Golden Gate, outward bound, and turned south with San Pedro listed for the next port. We were up forward on the main deck, smoking and relaxing from a hard spell of work along the Embarcadero of San Francisco, where we had photographed scenes for the "She Wolf." When I say "We," I am referring to the camera crew of the Great Feature Play Corporation, of Hollywood. As the ship passed through the "Gate," the big China Clipper, inbound from the Orient, passed close overhead, and that lead the conversation into the events of the Air Races at Ceveland, Ohio, and the death of "Bud" Johnson, formally known as Lieut. Johnson. My assistant, Bill Stevens, asked if it was the same Johnson that helped me with the scenes used in "The Great Race/ and that brought forth a new recital of the story. It was, perhaps, one of the most outstanding experiences in my career of dangerous situations, an experience in which impulses acted automatically for self-preservation with a realization of the danger into which I had been thrown. Not until it was all over did I realize the consequences I would have suffered had I lost my ability to think — automatically, instantly. Looking back twenty years, when auto racing with big heavy cars, traveling around bowl shaped wooden tracks was in vogue, I was faced with a moment for action that packed a lifetime in about twenty seconds of chill-weakening thrill. I was a cameraman in production at the time, for one of the major producers, engaged in photographing a thrilling race picture featuring a prominent male star of that day. A sequence had been written in that required a scene showing a group of racers huddled together, fighting for place, while running at top speed around the track. A popular track, situated a short distance west of Hollywood, was pulling off the last race of the season, a sort of handicap, with entries of many well known drivers. I suggested to the director that I photograph the entire race from an airplane, using long focus lenses that would bring the action close up. Well, I had asked for something and — got the assignment. 1 was given a free hand to make all the arrangements I thought necessary to carry through successfully. Lieut. "Bud" Johnson, a fine fellow, flat nosed, gray-blue sharp eyes and scarred from several encounters and crack-ups By Burr McGregor while flying in France, was idling around the lot trying to work up a job of stunt flying; he was called into conference with the director while we went into the details of the story requiring the stunt we wanted to get. It was arranged that Johnson would scout around and find a plane; "crate," as he called it. that could be maneuvered easily into the positions required; zooming, fast climbing and steep banking. The morning of the day of the race, Johnson called me on the phone and said he had secured a pretty good "crate" but could get no parachutes. I said I was willing to take a chance if he was as I wouldn't know what to do with a parachute if I had one. "0. K.," he said, "meet me at the flying field right after lunch and we'll rigg'er up." With my assistant, I drove to the field and unloaded the equipment and waited for Johnson. Half an hour later he came zooming toward us out of the sky in a stiff dive and then leveled out, roaring over our heads, or what would have been our heads had we not flattened out on the ground, then he made a fast climb, circled around and landed. He seemed well satisfied that the "crate" would carry us around and get what we wanted ; I took his word for it since he would be at the controls while I did the photographing. In those days we did not have the elaborate equipment for working in the air that has since been developed, but after a lot of fussing we managed to strap and secure a tripod in the rear cockpit that would hold the heavy camera secure in any position for working over the side and pointing down. All set to go, we had to work out signals that would enable me to tell him what positions to get into. First, we decided to do our general work from an altitude between five and a thousand feet, but we would go up four thousand feet for a nice full view of the track and the crowd. "What kind of signals do you want to use when we get up," I asked. "Well, I'll tell ya," he said, and went into a moment of thought. "Ya see, the sky's goin' to be crowded t'day and I'll have to keep a pretty sharp lookout for those amateurs floatin' around: can't never guess how they're goin' t'move an' I don't want 'em too close." "No," I said, "we want racing automobiles in this picture." "Well, it's like this," he said. "You're in back'v me an' I won't have time t'look 'round, an'f I did we couldn't hear nothin' through the helmets, so I'll tell ya what ya do. "When we get up high, I'll level out so ya can spot around an' see what ya wanna get. If ya wanna go left, tap me on the left shoulder; right, on the right shoulder: If ya wanna zoom down, tap me on the bean; if ya wanna level out, knuckle me on the back between the shoulder blades, — get me?" "I get it," I said, "Let's go!" I pulled on the overalls and clapped on the helmet and goggles and climbed into my seat along side the camera. Lieut. Johnson looked me over and said, "Now listen, kid; keep your feet away from those control cables an keep your seat strap tight; no tellin' what kind'v a stunt I might have ta dive into up there, an' quick-like, t'keep away from those monkeys with the fancy crates; mind now, keep that strap tight or ya might bail outa here an' I won't have time t'get under ya!" "Don't worry," I said, "I'll keep it tight: you just keep lookin' ahead till I rap you some place!" He climbed into his seat and signaled the ground man to turn over the propeller, threw in the switch and yelled "Contact." With the motor warmed up it only took a few turns to get into action. A blast from the exhaust, and then a smooth rhythm of flowing power as the motor was throttled down told us it was hitting smooth and even. Heading into the wind we raced down the field and lifted off the ground and climbed in circles till we were up to altitude and sailed over toward the high hills north of Hollywood and a position north of the track. Several flyers came in close to see what we were doing, and I thought, "The same old nuisance. All you have to do to draw a crowd is to set up a motion picture camera, even in the desert, and folks'U gather 'round and ask if you're making' motion pictures!" Here they were doing it up here in the air. Lieut. Johnson signalled to keep off for maneuvers and they sailed away. I reached over and touched him on the left shoulder, he looked around and I pointed toward the track. The atmosphere was clear and crisp, visibility perfect, with light and shadow conditions just right. In a short few moments the track spread out below us with thousands of race fans gathered and more coming from all directions along every road; it was a beautiful sight. Some of the racing cars were warming up, spinning around the track; they looked like the little toys of racers displayed in windows before Christmas. I ground off about 16