The international photographer (Jan-Dec 1933)

Twenty-two The INTERNATIONAL PHOTOGRAPHER March, 1933 NEW DOLLY Left — Phil Goldstone's Low Dolly, built for Majestic Pictures. Cameraman, Ira Morgan; Assistant, Harry Marsh. Right — Dolly in position for low angle shots. Photographed by Art Marion. LOST IN THE AIR (Continued from Page 19) This was puzzling and I asked the pilot if he could distinguish the towns by the lights, thereby telling where we were. Looking down, and without much enthusiasm, he advised they all looked alike to him and that he didn't know which was which. That meant only one thing; we were lost in the air! We did not have any equipment with which to make a forced night landing, such as flares, wing lights and other emergency landing lights. Fuel getting low, hood flapping, lost in the air; it was all just like a show to me. Soon it would be over and we would pass out just like the others after the climax had taken place. But so far the climax was undecided, and the only thing to do was wait and see it through. After flying in silence for a short distance Rudy again wanted to speak to me. This time he nearly capped the climax and brought the show to an end, as all he said was that he couldn't jump until I did. A great force almost compelled me to stand up in the cockpit, dive over the edge and pull the rip cord, leaving the rest to luck, as there was no way of telling where we would land if we jumped — in tree top, house top, telephone wires or some other object that might possibly cause instant death. It was agreed that if we jumped we were to go to the Western Union office in the next town; if Rudy arrived first he was to wait twenty minutes and if I didn't show up to get a car and comb the country for me. In the event that I arrived first I was to notify the townspeople of the disaster and have them go and find Rudy; I to continue on my way to Fort Worth with the film by the quickest route. Worse Than Nightmare After this consultation my nerves became a little shaky and it was with all the courage I could muster that I managed to stay with the ship. Rudy again asked me the time. I informed him that we had been in the air four hours and forty minutes. No answer came from him. A little silence from both of us, more noise from the flapping of the hood, more ducking, and every time I ducked I uttered a prayer. Upon another questioning from Rudy I informed him the time was four hours and forty-five minutes. This time I could scarcely hear the exclamation of "Oh, God!" from him. The whole trip now was assuming the aspect of being worse than any nightmare I'd ever had. Two people up above the earth with their lives hanging by a mere string, that string about to cut loose and end the story of two lives that were trying to serve the public by giving them the world's news in pictures almost at the time it happens. Five minutes later when informing my plucky pilot that the time was four hours and fifty minutes, a small light beacon far in the distance flashed by my eyes. Rudy had seen it almost at the same moment and this time he changed his exclamation by drawling out "J-E-S-U-S C-H-R-I-S-T!" After straining my eyes the lights of Dallas and Fort Worth could just be seen shimmering in the distance too far to calculate. The beacon flashed by again, and it certainly was a sight for sore eyes, taut nerves that were about to pop and two men that were going through a living hell in order that they might serve their public. The lights were fairly visible a few moments later. I looked at my watch and we had been in the air four hours and fifty-six minutes. Five Hours Are Up Dallas looked as though it might be a little nearer than Fort Worth and in going there we would not have to fly over the city to get to the field, as we would have to do if we tried to make it to Fort Worth, thereby possibly eliminating a catastrophy which would mean certain death to us and probably others if the fuel gave out directly over the business section. I informed my pilot that the most plausible thing to do was to try and make it to Dallas rather than chance it to Fort Worth and, anyway, if we crashed it would bring the film nearer to a city. He asked how he could determine the landing field at Dallas and I answered that it could be sighted by a large red light which was placed on a tower. It was now exactly 12 o'clock, which made five hours we had been in the air, and that was the limit of our fuel. Dallas was still a short distance ahead and a faint red light was scarcely discernible slightly to the left of the city. Rudy realizing the value of saving fuel as much as possible, put the ship's nose slightly earthward and directly at the red light which glared with intensity. My nerves were losing their hold and I was getting frantic as now the the race with my film competitor had ceased and it had become a race with Death — that greatest competitor of all — Death, which wins every race in which he enters and sometimes wins before many laps have been completed. The time was twelve ten; we were fast losing altitude and the red light was drawing nearer. At the altitude at which we were now flying a parachute was useless so throwing off the quilt and unbuckling my parachute and laying it on the floor of the plane I was ready for the inevitable climax of this story. It seemed as though by this time it had gone just to the crucial point where I didn't really care and was not worrynig. It seemed I was to pass out of the show as others had done and also that this was the last race in which I would participate. The red light was now very close; we were about to see the race ended with ourselves as victors. If we could only make it. I prayed as I never prayed before. Would the gas hold out?