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Excerpts
from
AAHS Journal, Vol. 57, No. 2 - Summer 2012
Table of Contents
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Jack Conroy and
his Flying Fish
Many large
components of the Apollo moon mission
systems were being built on the West Coast,
thousands of miles from the ultimate launch
site at Cape Canaveral, Florida. In order to
transport these parts, it was determined
they would need to be shipped via water on a
barge passing through the Panama Canal on
the way to Florida. This method was
expensive and very time consuming, taking
nearly a month for the passage. John M.
"Jack" Conroy, a former Air Force pilot,
(already renowned as the first person to fly
round trip from California to New York and
back between
sunrise and sunset, using an F-86,)
envisioned a gigantic cargo plane to carry
the mammoth rocket units for the Apollo
Program coast-to-coast in a matter of hours.
Although the Boeing 377 Stratocruiser was
still active as a tanker and military
transport, the plane’s life as a civil
airliner had waned and the airliner
repository at Mojave, Calif., was filling up
with retired 377s.
Because of the bulk
of the Stratocruiser’s fuselage, it was an
ideal platform for the development of one of
the most bizarre modifications in the annals
of aviation.
Conroy set up a
partnership with aircraft broker Lee
Mansdorf and conceived a stretched 377 with
a 20 ft. 3 in. diameter dome over the upper
lobe of the Stratocruiser’s double-bubble
fuselage. Conroy invested his own money and
placed the construction order with On Mark
Engineering, who began the conversion at Van
Nuys, Calif., in January 1962, on ex-Pan Am
N1024V, originally named "Clipper America."
The first step was
to cut the fuselage aft of the wing and
insert a 16 ft. 8 in. plug, which had been
removed from the forward fuselage of
ex-Transocean 377, N107Q. Flight tests of
this modification were successfully
concluded and it was determined the plane
flew even better with the fuselage
extension. Next, the 20-foot diameter
tubular dome was built over the existing
fuselage. The diameter of the new upper lobe
extended into the arc of the inboard
propellers, so the tips were
shortened by six inches.
One morning there
was an article in the Los Angeles
Times that showed a photo of the
plane under construction. I was intrigued
and went to visit the Aero Spacelines
office, located . . .
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Aero Spacelines Super Guppy launches on its first flight
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The Last
Allison-Powered P-51 Mustang
This is a story of the XP-51J lightweight
Mustang– the aircraft shown in Figure 1. The
story is not long as only two of this P-51
variant were built, and they did not fly for
very long, nor did they get into combat. Their
short history ended when the Army sent them
from North American Aviation to Allison for
engine testing – until now. Recently some
information, including several pictures of the
XP-51Js, was found in the archives of the
Rolls-Royce Heritage Trust (RRHT), which
contains history of the Allison Division of
General Motors. This story summarizes what has
been known about the XP-51J, some of which is
untrue, and the new information found in old
Allison and National Archives records.
Unfortunately, no flight test reports have
surfaced, but some information can be inferred
from the pictures that have been found.
The North American
P-51 was a particularly well-designed
aircraft. Even though the early Allison V-1710
powered Mustang was 1,500 pounds heavier than
a Spitfire IX, it was 38 mph faster at 20,000
feet when both were using 1,000 hp.1 After
1,081 Allison-powered P-51s (including 620
British Mustang Is) and 500 similar A-36As
were built, the engine was switched to a
2-stage, 2-speed supercharged Rolls-Royce
Merlin built in the U.S.A. by Packard. The
additional supercharging gave the Mustang the
high-altitude performance that made it
famous. During the remainder of the war,
13,686 Merlin-powered Mustangs (P-51Bs, -51Cs,
-51Ds, -51Hs and -51Ks) were built. By the end
of the war, 370 of the 555 lightweight P-51Hs,
powered by the later V-1650-9 Merlin, had been
built, but none were used in combat.2 The
remaining 185 P-51Hs were built after the war
was over.
The Lightweight
Mustang
Particularly during
wartime, there is always a need for higher
performance aircraft. Although the P-51 with
the Merlin engine was a great aircraft, it was
scrutinized for ways to improve its
performance. Both the USAAF and the RAF had
found that the Mustang was unnecessarily
heavy. After reading a report on the subject,
General Arnold, Commander of the USAAF, had
North American Aviation begin work on a
lightweight Mustang, the XP-51F, whose empty
weight was to
be less than 6,000 pounds.
In January 1943,
representatives of North American Aviation
submitted to the Air Materiel Command a new
design for a fast, highly maneuverable, and
high rate-of-climb fighter .
. .
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Allison-powered P51J Mustang
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Arctic Ops
Part II: Early Secret Military Cold War
Arctic Operations
Coping with
Arctic Weather
The officers and
enlisted men comprising the Cold Weather
Test Detachment (CWTD) at Ladd Field,
Alaska, continued throughout WWII ground and
flight testing USAAC combat aircraft, thus
determining their suitability for combat in
Arctic climatic conditions. They created new
methods to level the critical sub-zero
temperatures and their negative effects upon
men and machinery enabling both to
accomplish their combat missions and safely
return to base.
Practical flight
tests and research introduced battery
inspection procedures when aircraft
cold-soaked overnight. Maintenance personnel
checked for specific electrolyte levels,
used ground battery carts towed on a
copy-cat dog sled and charged them prior to
cranking cold-soaked engines.(1) The
popular press reported that aircraft
wet-cell storage batteries were being
improved with thicker positive-negative
plates, improved plate coatings, plus
improved electrolyte quality and levels.
Post-WWII they still required attention and
recharging especially in sub-zero
temperatures that reduced their designed
power output.
As WWII erupted in
Europe, Luftwaffe aircraft burned 87-octane
avgas without antiknock additives. America’s
petroleum industry sold overseas buyers
expensive 100-octane avgas with tetraethyl
lead, thus greatly reducing the antiknock
problem. The British liquid cooled and
radial engine performance was increased, and
even resulted in reduced aircraft takeoff
distances.(2) Unfortunately, the
increased percentage of lead in the higher
octane gasoline induced spark plug fouling
especially in sub-zero temperatures.
Cranking extremely cold, excessively-primed
engines wetted or frosted spark plugs thus
preventing ignition. New long-reach spark
plugs with higher heat-ranges (the plug’s
electrode reaches further into the
combustion area hence closer to the piston
crown), were engineered, manufactured and
sent to front-line squadrons, including
those in Alaska.
This was
highlighted when temperatures dropped to
lows of -60 degrees F during the winter of
1943-1944, thus severely cold-soaking the
Ladd Field detachment’s aircraft.(3)
Military pilots also requested a quick
method of cranking a totally coldsoaked
engine. The application of 10 percent to 30
percent gasoline injected into the engine
crankcase and oil tank by means of oil
dilution systems reduced the hot oil’s
viscosity before engines were shut down,
somewhat mixing the two liquids.(4) Engine
starts were somewhat easier with thinner
oil
. . .
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Dougals A-20 Havoc in snowbank in Nome, Alaska
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Doing the Wright
Thing
It should
come as no surprise to readers that the first
airplane factory was founded in Dayton, Ohio,
or that it bore the name Wright. What may come
as a surprise is that those original buildings
still stand, and until three years ago they
were still part of a functioning factory.
The Wright Co.
Building 1 was only the fifth structure ever
constructed by the Wright brothers for their
aircraft. It followed the two wooden buildings
the brothers constructed at Kitty Hawk, N.C.,
in 1900 and 1903, and two hangars constructed
in 1904 and 1906 at the Huffman Prairie in
Dayton, Ohio. The Kitty Hawk hangars were left
to the elements, and vandalism, while the
Huffman Prairie became part of Wilbur Wright
Field, the last hangar being demolished by the
Army Air Corps in 1937. With their demise, the
National Park Service now considers the Wright
Co. Building 1 to be the world’s oldest
surviving structure constructed for powered
flight. In 2012 it became the focus of a
National Park Service plan to turn the Wright
brothers’ first airplane factory into a museum
complex dedicated to the history of early
aviation in Dayton, Ohio.
The Wright
Company
Wilbur and Orville
Wright had been trying to sell their Wright
Flyer to the U.S. Army since 1905, but not
until February 8, 1908, did the Army Signal
Corps finally accept a bid from the Wrights
for an observation aircraft, with the
specification that it be capable of flying 40
mph for 125 miles while carrying two persons.
Despite Orville’s disastrous crash in 1908,
the brothers delivered their first "Military
Flyer" to the U.S. Army Signal Corps in 1909,
receiving $25,000, plus a $5,000 bonus
for completing all requirements ahead of
schedule. The Army contract meant the brothers
could finally move out of their bicycle shop
and build an aircraft factory in Dayton. In
late 1909 Wilbur and Orville collected
$400,000 from a group of New York investors,
and the Wright Co. was incorporated on
November 22, 1909.
Initially, the
company occupied a rented corner of the
Speedwell Automobile plant on Essex Avenue
(now Wisconsin Boulevard), an industrial area
in southwest Dayton. Speedwell was one of six
automobile manufacturers located in Dayton at
the time. The Speedwell factory was only
intended as a temporary site while the Wright
Co.’s first factory building was being
constructed. At the Speedwell site the Wright
Co. produced the Model B Flyer, the world’s
first mass-produced
airplane, and the Model R, a single-seat
racing version of the Model B. Meanwhile,
Charlie Taylor, Wright’s chief mechanic,
continued to build the Flyer’s engines in the
back of the West Third Street bicycle shop.
The original location of the Speedwell
Automobile plant is now a vacant lot at the
southeast corner of Wisconsin Blvd. and Miami
Chapel Rd. It is marked with a metal sign
indicating its importance.
In January 1910 the
Wrights broke ground for the first building
ever constructed for the purpose of
manufacturing airplanes. The site was in a
cornfield on the south side of West Third St.,
about 1.5 miles west of the Wright’s bicycle
shop. The one-story structure was modest,
incorporating
a curved roof that resembled an airplane
hangar. Inside, it . .
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America’s first aircraft factory, The Wright Airplane Co, circa 1911
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Air Cadet to
Sweden, 1958
In the
summer of 1958, I made my first trip out of
the United States, to Sweden, on the
International Air Cadet Exchange (IACE). I
was one of five American Civil Air Patrol
(CAP) cadets who spent two fascinating weeks
touring the country, along with pairs of
cadets from Belgium, Canada and the United
Kingdom. Hosted by the Swedish Air Force
(Flygvapnet), we visited air bases and other
locations from Kalmar, in the south, to
Abisko, well above the Arctic Circle.
We were introduced to Swedish aviation,
culture and society, making friends and
developing interests that for me, at least,
have been important parts of my life ever
since. I will attempt to recreate the point
of view and impressions of an 18-yearold on
his first major international journey. But,
first, a brief explanation of the IACE.
IACE
History
Sweden was the
fourth country to participate in the
International Air Cadet Exchange. The first
UK-Canada exchange, in 1947, sent 46 cadets
and two escorts from each country. American
CAP cadets went first to England in 1948.
Canada’s invitation to Flygvapnet brought
Swedish Flygpojkarna cadets to Canada in
1950.
Selection
for IACE
I joined the CAP in
1955, in a small eastern Oregon town. The
longest journeys I had made, to that time,
were annual visits to grandparents in
southern California, 1,500 miles away.
Sweden was only a name in books, a place
lying somewhere north of Germany. By late
1957, I was eligible for the IACE. I
successfully passed the selection board that
chose me to be one of two from Oregon for
the 1958 exchange.
En Route to
Sweden
The journey to Sweden
carried me on a variety of USAF airplanes. A
small Air Force C-45 transport flew me to
McClellan AFB, in Sacramento, California.
From there, the cadets from the western
United States and Hawaii moved on to Andrews
AFB, Md., outside of Washington, D.C.,
aboard a YC-121F turboprop Constellation.
After briefings at nearby Bolling AFB, D.C.,
we moved on to Germany via Newfoundland and
Scotland, aboard a C-118 (DC-6A).
At Bolling, I met
the other four cadets who were going to
Sweden. They were Pete Gay, from Maine,
Cliff Covey (New Jersey), Larry O’Quinn
(North Carolina) and New Mexico’s . . .
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Air Cadets inspect cockpit of Saab A32 Lansen
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United States
Army Air Forces
Primary Flight Trainers, 1939- 1945
WWII aviation
enthusiasts and Hollywood tend to remember
specific fighters, such as the P-51 Mustang or
the P-47 Thunderbolt, and bombers, such as the
B-17 Flying Fortress or the B-29
Superfortress. Often forgotten or
misunderstood are the much smaller and slower
monoplane and biplane piston-engine aircraft
that were used to train thousands of United
States Army Air Corps and Air Forces pilots.
These aircraft, built mostly by such companies
as Stearman, Fairchild and Ryan, were used in
what some deemed the most important stage of a
cadet’s training career: primary. Each
possessed certain strengths and weaknesses.
Some of these aircraft can still be seen
flying out of small airports in the United
States, offering rides to those willing to pay
$50 or more for a half hour of flight. Their
occupants probably have no idea that over 60
years ago these airplanes played a vital role
in laying a foundation upon which the United
States built a mighty air force.
On September 29,
1938, the day when European leaders reached an
agreement at the Munich Conference that was
supposed to avert war in Europe, Maj. Gen.
Henry Harley "Hap" Arnold, who had just become
Chief of the United States Army Air Corps,
outlined for President Franklin Delano
Roosevelt the miniscule size and strength of
the USAAC in comparison to Nazi Germany’s
Luftwaffe.1 Arnold wanted a bigger air force
and proposed a plan to produce 4,500 pilots in
two years starting in 1939. Primary flight
training would initially be provided at
Randolph Field, Tex., as well at nine civilian
flight schools owned by eight contractors. By
1944, over 60 civilian schools were
responsible for providing primary training to
all army flying cadets.
When Arnold
formulated his plan, the civilian contractors
had fixed-base operations or flight schools
with airfields and facilities, years of
commercial and military aviation experience,
and the flight instructors and mechanics in
place, but they lacked the aircraft necessary
to carry out flight training. In January 1939,
the original eight contractors possessed a
total of 24 planes. Even then, the USAAC could
only make 86 planes available with another 81
projected to arrive later in the year.
This was far short of the 400 primary trainers
proposed for the 4,500 Pilot Plan. Although
the 4,500 Pilot Plan was revised downward to
less than 2,500, the USAAC was not only short
230 primary trainers, but by law could not
loan government aircraft to civilians.
The USAAC looked to
the U.S. Congress for money to acquire the
necessary planes. It met resistance from
congressmen who, wanting to save money,
pressed the military to use aircraft commonly
used by the Civil Pilot Training Program. As
one congressman asked, "Can you use any of
these smaller airplanes like the Cub or the
Luscombe or any of those little two-seaters,
to do primary training?" Such aircraft were
powered by 65- and 100-hp engines and cost
only $1,500. The USAAC knew that it needed
aircraft with at least .
. .
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Stearman PT-17 over Carlstrom AAFB, Florida
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"Number Two;"
Helicopter Pioneer Stewart Ross Graham
"I have always been
fascinated by the wonders of flight – the
flying machines as well as the daring aviators
who flew them. The flying machine I came to
know best was the helicopter."
Stewart
Ross Graham,
Naval/Coast
Guard helicopter pilot number two.
The airplane in American aviation history has
many famous fathers. Hundreds of names are
etched in the fabric of fixed-wing aircraft
history. The helicopter, conversely, has few,
and these pioneers’ stories, with few
exceptions, are vague.
"It was "¦ on
October 20, 1943, when I recall the words,
"˜Stew, you’re safe for solo,’ from Frank
Erickson, my instructor with only a few
hours of solo time himself, as he stepped
out of the YR-4 helicopter and waited a safe
distance away – behind a tree – near the
Sikorsky factory in Bridgeport, Connecticut.
"I pulled into a
shaky hover, and then watched Frank give me
a thumbs up. I smiled nervously and pushed
forward making a few circles around the
meadow and landed.
"That made me
Coast Guard [and Navy(1)] helicopter pilot
number two. At that time I had a total of
three and a half flight hours in
helicopters. It was an extraordinary way to
graduate: no written tests, no diploma, no
certificate and no curriculum to follow
thereafter. I was set free to penetrate the
unknown with an unleashed, unreliable,
under-powered, vibrating, revolutionary type
of flying machine."(2)
In another account,
truer perhaps – more for private confessions –
Graham admitted, to his "astonishment" the
machine suddenly became airborne,
"unexpectedly going backwards and gaining
altitude. Instinctively pushing the control
stick forward had little response until full
forward thrust on the control was applied to
overcome the rearward flight. A quick look at
the altimeter showed 400 feet gained during
this state of total confusion"¦Regaining flight
control I’m now flying over the area where I
became airborne noticing the commander gazing
pathetically at me with his hands clasped
together on his chest as if saying his
prayers. I continued flying for several
minutes to steel my jagged nerves and to give
time to calm my instructor down. I finally
landed safely with the commander running up to
the helicopter, his face now inside the open
window shouting, "˜Graham’–he calls me Graham
now – "˜what the hell kind of a takeoff was
that?’ He normally spoke loud but his voice
this time was several dBs above loud." Igor
Sikorsky and his chief engineer quickly
analyzed the situation. This became a weight
and balance problem when the 250 pound
Erickson departed the cockpit for Graham to
fly solo for the first time.(3)
Cmdr. Stewart Graham,
USCG (Ret.), would be anyone’s favorite
neighbor. He is an excellent listener, shy,
and with a face framed around a permanent
smile; a smile accented with an elfin twinkle
in his eyes. He has the uncanny ability to
make people in his company feel comfortable
and important. His modest demeanor belies an
adventurous life, so it was a surprise and a
pleasure for me to sit with Stew and listen to
him tell his story.(4)
A Boy at the
Airport
Graham, born in 1917,
grew up in Rosedale, Long Island, N.Y., about
a mile from the Curtiss-Wright Airport. The
eightyear-
old, in 1925, rode his bicycle to the airport,
spending most of his spare time with the
pilots and their airplanes. Pilots grew
familiar with this inquisitive lad and soon
permitted him to helpd . . .
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HNS-1 landing on moving platform, Mal de Mer
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Auxiliary
Exhaust Ports in Early Aircraft Engines
A careful
look at early Wright brothers and Glenn
Curtiss engines reveals a fascinating design
feature. Small holes can be seen at the base
of their engine cylinders. The Wright
brothers used circular (and later rectangular)
"holes," also referred to as "auxiliary
exhaust ports," in their 1904 Engine No. 3 as
well as their Vertical-4 engines. Glenn
Curtiss also used auxiliary exhaust ports in
some of his 2, 4 and 8-cylinder aero engines.
A few others, including engines from the Kemp
Machine Works, Bates Engineering Co., as well
as the famous Anzani engine in the Bleriot IX
also used this engine design feature. These
auxiliary exhaust ports were through holes at
the base of the individual cylinders that
exposed the inside of the engine cylinder to
the atmosphere when the piston was near
the bottom of its stroke. Since these engines
operated under the four-stroke cycle
principle, these holes, at first, seem rather
odd to the modern observer. Who did this and
what was
the purpose of these holes in the engine?
A schematic of
auxiliary exhaust ports is shown in Figure 1.
This engine schematic represents the F-head
type used by Glenn Curtiss in his early engine
designs. Near the base of the engine cylinder
can be seen a set of three holes that would
exhaust to the atmosphere at the end of the
combustion-expansion stroke (left side). These
were known during the late 19th century and
first decade of the 20th century as "Auxiliary
Exhaust Ports." The right side schematic shows
the conventional exhaust stroke with exhaust
leaving the engine’s cylinder via the exhaust
valve.
What was the origin
of this design feature? This article will
briefly explore the basis for these ports
starting with steam engines, two-stroke
engines, stationary gas engines and early
motorcycle and automotive engines that likely
led to the introduction of this design feature
by some early aviation engine manufacturers.
Some notable early aviation engines that used
this concept will be explored in this article.
Then, as the Great War arrived, this aviation
engine technology faded away.
Steam Engines
During the later decades of
the 19th century auxiliary exhaust ports were
present in both stationary and railway steam
engines. In general, these auxiliary exhaust
ports were part of the valve box that is
connected to the working steam pistoncylinder.
At least one design, however, used an
auxiliary exhaust port that was directly
connected to each end of the working steam
cylinder (1). The purpose of these "˜extra’
exhaust paths was to reduce the steam pressure
in the working cylinder down . . .
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A Wright Vertical-4 engine pointing out exhaust ports
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An Old
Geezer’s Story
Like a
lot of AAHS members, I’ve had a lifelong
interest in airplanes and aviation history,
and even have some stories that might be of
interest to others. What follows is one of
them.
Back in the summer of
1936, I was an 8-year-old kid growing up in
north central New Jersey. There was quite a
bit of aviation history being made in that
part of the country, and my home town was
situated about 14 miles from Newark Airport,
at that time the commercial gateway airport
for New York City (La Guardia and JFK came
later), and Hadley Field, the eastern terminus
for the transcontinental air mail system. My
older brother and I were kind of the
air-minded kids in the neighborhood, and quite
often in the summer, the family Sunday drive
would end up at Hadley Field. On Sunday
afternoons in summer, Hadley usually featured
barnstorming rides in a tough old biplane, the
New Standard D-25, which was owned by the
airport manager and fixed base operator, one
Ken Unger. The New Standard was built in
Paterson, N.J., as a dual purpose airplane.
Powered by one Wright J-5 and flown by a
single pilot out in the breeze, it featured a
large compartment forward of the pilot large
enough to carry 900 lbs of mail, or four
passengers in two rows of two, sitting on
2x10s and strapped in with shared seatbelts.
This particular Sunday, my dad announced that
he was ready to spring for the $3 so that he,
my brother, and I could take our first
airplane ride in the New Standard. Our turn to
go came pretty quickly, and over the protests
of my mother and grandmother, we climbed
aboard and taxied away. I don’t recall the
pilot, but it was not Unger himself. I believe
that he was the owner, but there was another
fellow named Decker who flew for Unger a lot,
so maybe he was the pilot. I do remember that
it had unequal span orange wings, and a bright
green fuselage, no engine cowl, and orange
tail surfaces.
Hadley had an asphalt
tarmac between three or four hangars, but no
paved runways, just 2,500 ft. of mowed, gently
rolling grass hills that allowed takeoffs in
any direction required by the prevailing wind.
I don’t remember too many details of the
flight, but I knew right then that I was going
to be involved . . .
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New Standard D-25 NC930V
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Way Back
When - The Verville Air-Coach
This series focuses on
sales literature that prompted light aircraft
during the Golden Age of American aviation. It
will illustrate sales and marketing messages for
popular, and not so well known, aircraft from
the 1920s and 1930s, illuminating insight into
the perspectives associated with the aviation
industry of that era.
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Verville Air-Coach brochure
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Forum of
Flight
The FORUM is presented as an
opportunity for each member to participate
in the Journal by submitting interesting or
unusual photographs. Negatives,
black-and-white or color photos with good
contrast may be used if they have smooth
surfaces. Send submissions to the Editorial
Committee marked "Forum of Flight," P.O.
Box 3023, Huntington Beach, CA 92605-3023.
Mark any material to be returned: "Return to
(your name and complete address)."
Please include as much information as
possible about the photo such as: date,
place, names, etc., plus proper credit (it
may be part of your collection but taken
by another photographer).
|

Vought SU-1, BuNo 8931, damaged at Logan Airport, Boston, MA
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News
& Comments / President’s Message
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corrections and general comments from AAHS
members and other individuals that have
contact the Society.
The President's Message contains the
Society's management perspective on the
current status of the Society was well as
directions and initiatives that the
organization is pursuing.
Members are encourage to let headquarters
know their thoughts and suggestions for
helping the Society achieve its services and
educational goals.
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