The international photographer (Jan-Dec 1933)

March, 1933 The INTERNATIONAL PHOTOGRAPHER Nineteen Upon sight of the package I seemed to get new life, as this was the one thing for which I was there and by the shape and size I was assured that this was IT. I didn't even stop to thank the pilot nor ask him how it happened that he came in possession of the film. The only thing I had in and on my mind was to get to my ship as soon as possible and get on my way toward Fort Worth. Rudy already had started the motor and upon sight of me was in the cockpit and ready to go. A very little conversation passed between us, but I learned my competitor had taken off fifteen minutes previous. It took us only a fraction of a minute to get into the air and on our famous journey and race. The wind was coming out of the north at a considerable clip, and this of course cut down our speed. Our first stop was at San Antonio, landing at Winburn Field, where we left orders that the ship be fully serviced, and then went to get some supper. While we were eating the wind gained in velocity until it became little less than a raging gale. It took me until 6:45 to make a decision that we should continue our flight. When Rudy was informed of this I thought it was going to take the entire police force to make him even consider it. Chill Inside and Out After he consented we lost no time in getting to the field and taking off on the last part of our journey to Fort Worth. It had suddenly become very cold and Rudy had added to his clothing for warmth. The sun had long since gone down and it was 7 o'clock exactly when we were in the air and over the city of San Antonio with all of its lights already on. The people were just beginning to enjoy the shows and dances for the evening and here we were a long distance in the air, the cold and darkness, far from enjoying ourselves. As for myself I had borrowed a quilt to keep warm. I was dressed in a flannel shirt, a suede jacket, a sheepskin lined coat, my parachute over this and then wrapped in the heavy quilt, but with the propeller blast and my nerves on end I was far from being warm. Climbing to an altitude which I judge was near the six-thousand-foot mark Rudy motioned that he would like to speak to me. After this short conversation I understood why it was that he was not very anxious to fly after dark. His instruments were not illuminated and he would have to fly entirely by sight with fuel enough for only five hours. It was approximately three hundred miles distant to Fort Worth, and with a forty-mile-an-hour head wind the maximum 95-mile speed of the ship in favorable conditions made the flight a precarious one. All of this went through my mind and the trip became a miserable attempt at suicide. I thanked Captain Odas Moon for the loan of the parachutes; at least they were a little consolation. Rudy informed me he was flying with plenty of altitude so the chutes would have ample time to work if we had to jump. This was indeed a pleas ant thought. We were in the air for several hours and I was no less than one degree from freezing when that same side of the hood again came loose and started flapping as before. Fight to Keep Warm This time I unwound myself from my quilt and started on my perilous way to the front of the motor. Upon reaching there I found there was no more wire with which to fasten it down. Of course this was a most enjoyable predicament, and after a consultation with Rudy I decided to make the best of it by sitting with my back resting against the V-shaped strutts and placing one foot on either side of the hood in order to keep it from flapping to pieces, possibly severing itself from the ship, blowing back and injuring some vital part of the controls of the tail section. It wasn't long before this grew old and I was almost numb from the cold, so I made my way slowly back to the cockpit. When it was reached it was as welcome as an oasis in the desert. This time I was a little more uneasy, so did not sit as a person ordinarily would, but wrapped in my quilt I squatted in the seat with my feet under me just as a monkey would. I sat there nearly crazed from the terrible, monotonous, deafening drone of the motor, watching the hood flap up and down, ducking my head for fear the hood would at any minute come flying back and possibly hit me, or with its force cut out some of the controls of the ship. If this happened it would mean only one alternative — jump! All of these thoughts that were congested in my head made the trip most pleasant. My thoughts turned to those below and looking down I saw lights of many towns. Then I meditated on the enjoyment and contentment that reigned there; how lucky those people were. I ducked my head again as the hood made a tremendous noise in its flapping. I was sure that this time it would succeed in coming loose; my hand went to the ring of the rip cord, I was rigid waiting for the crucial moment when I would get the chance to pull that little ring and end all the agony. The film — I should do something with it in order not to lose it. I unbuttoned my sheepskin coat, placed it inside, strapping it to me by means of my belt. Having done this I felt a little better. The flapping ceased for a short interval. All Towns Look Alike Looking back at Rudy I could see he wished to say something. Upon leaning back to listen he merely asked me the time. I replied that we had been in the air four hours and fifteen minutes. No answer from Rudy. Glancing down toward the ground I found, much to my surprise, that I could count the lights of twenty-one towns. (Continued on Page 22) yjJHO UJfinT A GOOD R6VeRSIBL€ FILITl ■FOR THEIR, 16 mm. 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