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The AAHS has a collection of vintage, large-scale, aircraft models available for sale. The collection includes over 80 models, several pedal cars and an assortment of modeling supplies. |
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The PBY’s of the Kendall Family Two different PBY-5A Catalinas (N5593V and N5590V) played unique roles in the lives of two different (but related) persons’ name of "Thomas Kendall". Thomas W. Kendall (Tom, the senior Kendall) was an engineer who specialized in process improvement practices in manufacturing long before ‘Kaizen’ became a standard business practice. Tom was innovative in marketing, using personal aircraft for speedier access to his clients when he began his own metal shop business. He and his son Thomas Robert Kendall (‘Bob’) both employed PBY-5A aircraft both for adventure and opportunity to improve the family’s fortunes. Their PBY-5A usages would become a defining feature for their lives in very different ways. Inge Kendall, (wife of Bob Kendall) a longtime member of AAHS, recently donated the PBY documentation collected by her family to the AAHS archives. This article recollections and research support from Sophia Hughes, were the result of this donation, and we thank her and the Kendall family for their support of aviation history PBY-5A in Military Use The PBY-5A, a variant of Consolidated Aircraft Company’s PBY Catalina seaplane, (a PBY-5 version with its hull and structure adapted for amphibian use), was a stalwart tool of WWII operations on several fronts by several countries’ military operations. The PBY-5As versatility made it suitable for several roles, namely for long range reconnaissance, airsea search and rescue, anti-submarine patrol, supply, cargo and troop transport, just to name a few. The PBY-5A variant was produced in the largest numbers (well over 1,000) of all PBYs for the U.S. and allied nations before and during WWII.[1] PBY-5A BuNo. 48406 was delivered from Consolidated Aircraft’s San Diego factory on December 31, 1943, and served the U.S. Navy in the Pacific, patrolling the Marshall and Gilbert Islands and served with the U.S. Coast Guard following the war. Stricken from military service in 1956, the PBY-5A ended up in the U.S. Navy’s surplus storage at Litchfield Park, Arizona.[2] PBY-5A BuNo. 48397 also served with the U.S. Navy, and stored as surplus inventory in 1956 in Litchfield, Arizona, where it, and several other PBYs. Thomas William Kendall- Early Years Thomas "Tom" William Kendall was born March 18,1915, in Hollywood, the second of 4 children, to swim instructors Thomas "Pop" Harold Kendall and Fanny Giblin Kendall. Pop and Fanny taught swimming at the Venice Beach Swim Club, in Venice, California within a very large wooden structure. They had immigrated via Canada separately from southern England the couple then moved to the U.S. where they took jobs teaching swimming at the YMCA. Both parents taught at the Venice Beach Swim Club until the structure burned down in December 1920. Young Tom was a natural water baby; it was reported in a Los Angeles paper that he ‘amazed scientists’ by his ability to swim, labelling him ‘the World’s Youngest Swimmer’ by a Los Angeles newspaper.[3] After the destructive fire, Pop Kendall moved his family to Upland, California and began a chicken/citrus ranch. Fanny and the children gradually took care of the chicken business while Pop became a salesman for the Upland firm, Scheu Mfg., selling citrus grove equipment and swamp coolers to growers in central and southern California, even driving his Model T to Arizona to equip the growers there. Young Tom Kendall attended Chaffey Union High School, participating on the swim team, the track team (he held a record in his senior year for the 440-yard dash), and the Physical Sciences Club. His interests in science turned problematic however; during an unsupervised
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George A. Page, Jr.; Early Heinrich Pilot - Aviation Engineer George A. Page, Jr. was born December 14, 1892, at Sewickley, Pennsylvania. His parents soon moved to New York City where, after finishing his schooling, he took an International Correspondence School course in engineering. He also became intensely interested in aviation and started building model airplanes, an interest he never lost. In his own estimation, he built more than 500.[1] During the 1910-1912 period, Page competed as a member New York Model Aero Club. On March 10, 1912, one of his model planes won a second place competition with a flight of 1,436 feet.[2] He became a very competent aero-modeler, winning many awards and honors in early Eastern model flying contests, including the Aero Club of America Silver Cup. During this period, he also became interested in gliders and made some hops during the summer of 1911 in a Witteman Chanute-type hang glider at Oakwood Heights, Staten Island, New York. This attracted the attention of Capt. Thomas S. Baldwin who offered to teach Page to fly and give him a job on his exhibition team. His parents, however, would not give their consent. At the time Page was working for The Equitable Life Assurance Society as a junior clerk, but his major interest was aviation. The Long Island flying fields were alluring, and on reaching his 21st birthday and now on his own, Page decided to take flying lessons. On April 15, 1913, he left the insurance company and signed up with the Heinrich Brothers Flying School at Baldwin, Long Island, for instruction. Living close by he secured room and board for $6.00 per week. He started his flying lessons on April 18, 1913, where he learned to fly on a Model D single-seater Heinrich monoplane, with a 30-hp Anzani engine. In order to help pay for his lessons, one of his jobs was to carve a spare propeller from a glued-up spruce blank. His progress was slow because they had only one plane and it was a single seater. Page virtually taught himself from verbal ground instructions and using the French method (or, Grass Cutter method) where the student pilots an underpowered plane around the field while developing confidence and control. Eight months after starting his training, on December 13, 1913, Page flew for his license, which he passed with ease. Certificate No. 279 was granted him, dated January 7, 1914. At that time, Page had never driven an automobile, using a bicycle as his primary mode of transportation. After completing his flying course, Page joined the Moisant International Aviators as a mechanic, but later was transferred as a draftsman, where he remained until November 1915 when he left to join the Aeromarine Plane and Motor Co. of Belleville, N.J., also as a draftsman. In July 1916 he returned to the Heinrich Aeroplane Company, in Freeport, Long Island, N.Y., remaining there until December 13, 1917. Page left Heinrich to join the newly established Curtiss facility in Garden City, Long Island, where he was initially employed as a draftsman. Page worked for Curtiss throughout WWI. During this period, he helped design of the MF flying . . . |
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A Vanishing Hobby; From the Golden Age of Aeronautical Model Building Imagine a time when the public, youth, business and local governments were very interested in all things aviation. Over 90 years ago, that was the case. Communities were competing to establish airports, an aviation craze unlike any other time had taken hold of the country. Record flights had occurred flying the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, airlines were created, youth and adults dived in to the world of aviation. Time marched on and the world has changed. Over the past 25 years, most have forgotten the history of stick and tissue airplane modeling. My hope is to remind some of this past. I have been building models for over 60 years (a lifetime passion). Starting out with plastic kits, I then moved on to balsa kits, and drawing up plans and then building from those. Maybe growing up next to an air carrier airport where every few minutes another airplane would fly overhead or riding in the back seat of a Mooney M-21 all over the West Coast had an impact. I come from an all-flying family, so no doubt our love of flying is a genetic anomaly. My parents bought a Mooney and both were licensed to fly. My brother was a pilot for FedEx and as the youngest, I was the last to get my pilot’s license and buy a Cessna 172. Remarkably, I have had the opportunity to live in a time machine and would like to share some of that with you. Mine is a forgotten hobby, building semi-scale balsa wood stick and tissue model airplanes. When I returned to our home in California after working in Arizona for 13 years, the third garage of our home was converted into a workshop for model building. Since it was previously used for storage, I had a clean slate for design. It is a good-sized room with a large window, ceiling fan to quickky remove fumes and lots of electrical outlets. One side is devoted to my aviation library with a comfy chair and reading lamp for research. The other side is designed for model building with a large work area under the window (lots of light), drafting table and lamp for design. Having a specific place to work has provided an enjoyable and safe place for the creation of models. Origins Flying models are as old as history. Model aeroplaning became a popular hobby during the 1900’s before World War One. The materials utilized for building models included silver spruce, birch, basswood, sugar pine, poplar, bamboo, and rattan reed to name a few. Although balsa wood was around it was not typically used for building model flying machines at that time. The model airplane hobby took off after the 1927 transatlantic flight of Lindbergh. An amazing variety of model airplane kits began to be produced. They tended to be sold in dime, hardware, drug and department stores. Hobby shops had yet to arrive on the scene for the most part. Given the increased interest in aviation, distance, endurance and record flights, aviation being covered in the movies[1] and magazines, anything connected to flight was all the rage. Of course, building model airplanes became popular with an air crazed youth. Many clubs were formed and contests held flying models. The Junior Birdmen club was one example and contests and meets were covered both in newspapers and magazines.[11] Interestingly many of these kids involved in this hobby went on to join the Army Air Corps during WW II or work in the aerospace industry or other professional vocations later in
life. Some even became pilots. Around 1930 balsa wood became a mainstay in the model airplane field. It was a great fit given its light weight, ease to work with and elasticity. Balsa could be used for longerons, spars, bulkheads and ribs in the construction of the fuselage, wings and tail surfaces. A light weight tissue paper would then cover the completed model and it could be ready for flight or display. By the middle 1930s, during the golden age of flight, many companies were established selling model airplane kits and plans. A mass market opened up for the use of balsa in airplane models.[2] Three influential leaders in the changeover to balsa included the Cleveland Model and Supply Co., Model designer Joe Ott, and Avrum Zier, the Flying Aces magazine model editor. Some of the companies then producing model airplane kits included Cleveland, Ideal, Comet, Peerless, Scientific, Ace Whitman, Megow, Guillow’s and others.[3] Hobby shops appeared on the scene as well. Although balsa wood was supplied with kits, each part had to be individually cut out of a wood sheet with a razor blade or pocket knife. As Bill Hannan (model builder and publisher), said, "We can create or recreate aviation history through the time machine of our hobby." Historical aircraft that haven’t seen the light of day . . . |
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Hughes H-1 Racer and Howard Hughes Howard Hughes is a name that is synonymous with many things, from billionaire playboy to reclusive tycoon, from daring risk-taker to hypochondriac. In the world of aviation, Hughes is known for such films as Hell’s Angels and Jet Pilot, the H-4 Hercules flying boat (better known by its derisive nickname, the "Spruce Goose"), helicopters such as the OH-6 Cayuse, and spacecraft such as the Surveyor landers and the Magellan satellite, but before all that, Howard Hughes’ first venture into creating an aircraft of his own vision was one of the sleekest planes of its day, with wide-reaching impacts on aerospace design. Dubbed the "Hughes Mystery Ship" by the press and known officially as the Hughes 1B Special, it is known to history through later publications as the Hughes H-1 Racer. Howard Robard Hughes, Jr. was, if nothing else, ambitious. His father, Howard Sr., had established the fortune that would fuel his son’s projects through the establishment of the Hughes Tool Company, known for drill bits used in the oil industry. Upon inheriting his father’s company at a young age, Hughes sought out more exciting ventures, becoming a film producer and director who created some of the most elaborate and boundary-pushing films of the day, most notably the classic WWI aviation film Hell’s Angels. But if there was anything Hughes loved more than movies, it was flying. Outside of Hell’s Angels, Hughes first came to prominence in the world of aviation when he won the Sportsman Pilot Free for All during the 1934 All-American Air Meet in Miami, Fla., flying a highly modified Boeing 100 (the civilian version of the P-12/F4B fighter). However, he sought to go much faster, with the intent of breaking the world landplane speed record. After a consultation with engineer Glenn Odekirk in Miami, Hughes was determined to use his finances to build the fastest landplane up to that point. To achieve this vision, Hughes would delegate the design process to Richard "Dick" Palmer and install Glenn Odekirk as project manager. Palmer’s design team crafted models of airfoils, engine cowlings, and tail surfaces in a rented garage before testing them in the wind tunnel of Palmer’s alma mater, the California Institute of Technology (Cal Tech) in Pasadena. Palmer assembled a team to build the H-1 in secret at Grand Central Air Terminal in nearby Glendale. The press was aware that Hughes was building a new airplane, but due to the secrecy involved in concealing the details of the aircraft from the public, the press originally dubbed it the "Hughes’ Mystery Ship." Though it was not the first airplane to have this feature, one of the most distinguishing characteristics of the 1B Special were the flush rivets that gave its aluminum fuselage a smooth surface that greatly reduced drag on the airframe. Its wings, however, were made of wood to save weight and get the best contours to reduce drag. This was achieved through meticulously shaping, sanding, and varnishing the airfoil. The wings were only 24 feet, 5 inches in span. It featured a wide-width retractable landing gear. The plywood skin was sanded until it glistened in the California sun. On August 17, 1935, the 1B was rolled out for the first time, no doubt stunning all who were lucky enough to see it that day. The plane was then trucked from Glendale to Mines Field (now Los Angeles International Airport). Hughes clambered into the cockpit, fired up the plane’s Pratt & Whitney R-1535 Twin Wasp Junior and they took off into the skies above Los Angeles. During the 15-minute flight, Hughes had difficulties with the constant speed propeller, which prevented him from going faster than 250 mph. It was later discovered upon inspection that the bevel gears in the propeller governor had not been aligned and had chewed each other up. Consequently, a new propeller was ordered from Hamilton-Standard in Connecticut. On August 28, with the new propeller having been flown in and installed, Hughes set off to Union Air Terminal in Burbank (now Hollywood-Burbank Airport). This time, the landing gear would not extend on approach, despite every effort by Hughes to extend the gear. It was only because of the emergency oil valve placed by Odekirk that forced oil from the engine to push the hydraulically-operated gear to the extended position that Hughes did not bail out. The cause of this incident turned out to be the main hydraulic pump, which had blown its gasket. A new one was installed and no further issues came up. 1B Record Setting After two more test flights out of Burbank on September 9 and 11, Hughes brought the 1B to Santa Ana with only around a total of three hours of flight time, where he intended to break the . . . |
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Floyd Bennett Field: New York’s First Airport There are several New York area airports, including those on Long Island, in Westchester County, and in New Jersey, but few people are able to name New York City’s very first municipal airport. And even fewer are able to explain why it no longer exists. That airport is Floyd Bennett Field, posthumously named after Floyd Bennett himself. Born on October 26, 1890, in Warrensburg, New York, Bennett enlisted in the U.S. Navy 27 years later. "In April of 1925, he was assigned to Naval Air Station, Anacostia, Washington, D.C., and participated in the Naval Air Detail of the MacMillian Arctic Expedition," according to the Naval History and Heritage Command website. "While on the expedition, he earned the respect of Lt. Cmdr. Richard E. Byrd, USN, who picked him as a copilot for his Byrd Arctic Expedition in the Spring of 1926. (That May), with Lieutenant Commander Byrd, Bennett courageously copiloted as they flew over the pole and he was subsequently awarded the Medal of Honor for ‘the risk of his life.’ " Perhaps not as synonymous with Antarctic expeditions as Byrd himself, Bennett was nevertheless selected as his copilot and served as a team member of the first westbound transatlantic flight from Ireland to Newfoundland, Canada. He contracted pneumonia during the trip and succumbed to the disease on April 25, 1928. Before his untimely death, however, he toured Barren Island, location of his later namesake airfield, and then turned to his wife and prophetically said, "Someday, Cora, there will be an airport here. " Although he never lived to witness that eventuality, it itself witnessed numerous civil and military aviation events—except, perhaps, the ones for which it was originally intended. Origins "The story of Floyd Bennett Field, from garbage heap and glue factory to municipal airport and to Naval Air Station, was a saga of continual controversy, progress, and achievement unmatched in aviation history, " according to the "Floyd Bennet Field " article (United States Coast Guard Aviation History). Tracing its origins to Lindbergh’s historic, New York-to-Paris solo flight, it alerted the world to the fact that the aircraft did not depart from New York at all, but from Long Island, and that the only real "New York " airport at the time was located across the state line, in New Jersey, indicating the need for a dedicated, state-located, municipal facility. A panel headed by famed aviator Clarence D. Chamberlain to search for a suitable site for one was established for this purpose. The subsequently chosen location, a 387-acre marsh on Barren Island south of Brooklyn, New York, once housed a small community, a horse-rendering plant, and the appropriately-named, dirt runway-equipped Barren Island Airport, which was owned by Paul Rizzo and was periodically used for passenger sightseeing flights. The site, part of 33 tiny islands, enjoyed favorable winds, lacked approach obstructions, was predominantly fog-free, and offered vast expanses for future growth. The airport was intended as a state-of-the-art gateway to what was considered one of the world’s greatest cities. Construction, by the City Department of Docks, coincidentally occurred on October 29, 1929, the same day that the stock market crashed, and entailed the connection of the islets by filling in their interspersing channels with six million cubic feet of sand pumped from the bottom of Jamaica Bay and raising its elevation 16 feet above the tidewater, to connect it to Long Island. Runway 15-33, stretching 3,100 feet, and Runway 6-24, at 4,000 feet, constituted the airport’s first topographical construction projects, along with a taxiway. During the two year period between 1929 and 1931, four pairs of hangars equally rose from the former marshes: internally measuring 120 by 140 feet. The steel frame buildings featured trussed, arched roofs, concrete slab floors, and wooden decks, and were supported by 45-foot-long pre-cast concrete piles. A neo-Georgian-style, red and black brick, two-story administration building, completed in 1931, was sandwiched between the now-extended, airport-accessible Flatbush Avenue . . . |
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James J. "Crash" Ryan; Father of the Black Box James J. "Crash" Ryan’s research laid the foundation for the modern flight data recorder, contributing greatly to aviation safety. Aircraft flight data recorders were around even before the beginning of manned, powered flight. Early lighter-than-air data was described by word of mouth or recorded via sketchy handwritten notes on altitude and wind direction. The Wright brothers used a crude instrument that measured time, distance, and engine RPM on their Wright Flyers. Small barographs with a rotating paper drum and ink stylus were installed on many airplanes of the 1920s, including Charles Lindbergh’s Spirit of St. Louis. But up to the post-WWII era, as recorders became more sophisticated and commonplace, they all shared a common flaw. None could survive a catastrophic crash, resulting in the loss of important data just when it could have been most useful. It was not for lack of trying. During WWII, the U.S. Army Air Corps and Civil Aeronautics Board had teamed up to encourage the development of survivable flight data recorders. There were two main reasons for this. First, with the growing numbers of training aircraft and flights, there were many more crashes resulting in crew casualties and extensive damage to aircraft. Training methods and structural designs were constantly revised in an attempt to decrease losses, so flight data was increasingly seen as helpful. Second, both military and civilian maintenance officers were frantically looking for ways to avoid the necessity for extensive visual inspections following erratic flight maneuvers and hard landings. They hoped that a reliable flight data recorder might sometimes take the place of crews of mechanics spending hours inspecting an airplane for potentially dangerous damage. Several companies that were already doing war work started looking into recorder designs, but since that research tended to take a back seat to other more pressing needs, very little progress was made until after the war’s end. General Mills, since early in the war, had been involved in the development of precision equipment for the Air Corps, as well as other military branches. Some of that work continued into the following decade. The company’s mechanical division started searching for an experienced engineer who could join its program to develop a new flight data recorder, known as the "FDR " project. They selected Professor James J. Ryan, a graduate of the University of Iowa and University of Pittsburgh engineering schools. After working for Westinghouse during the early days of the Great Depression, Ryan had joined the University of Minnesota faculty in 1931. No stranger to military problem solving, he had helped design precision recording altimeters, accelerometers and tensiometers during the war. With the onset of the jet age, Ryan became the lead researcher on a project for the U.S. Air Force aimed at determining at what altitude and speed it was safe for an ejecting pilot to deploy his parachute - or for an automatic release device to deploy the parachute if the pilot could not do so. His work on that project provided a good foundation for developing an accurate and survivable flight data recorder. The General Mills team wasn’t alone in the attempt to create a new FDR. The French had tried variants of photographic recording equipment, but couldn’t solve the flammability issue related to film chemicals. General Electric had come up with what is called “selsyns,” small transmitters attached to every instrument, but which required a cumbersome loom of wiring and tubing that sent signals to the recording device. Other companies had tried to perfect a paper drum and ink system, but at high altitudes and low pressures the ink stylus clogged, froze or dried up. A few firms had also experimented with using white lacquer-coated black paper, which was incised by a sharp stylus. The only thing all the developers seemed to agree on was that the safest place to locate the recording equipment was in the tail of the aircraft, since that was usually the last section . . . |
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The Coast Guard Fifteen Plane Mystery I love a mystery. So, when I stumbled upon a mystery while researching a book about Coast Guard aircraft crashes, it was too hard for me to resist. The first Coast Guard aviator to die in a Coast Guard aircraft crash was Charles T. Thrun, Coast Guard aviator number 3 and the Coast Guard’s first enlisted aviator. On January 19, 1935, he was killed in the waters off Base Nine Aviation Station (in Cape May, N.J.) in a recently arrived Grumman J2F Duck number No.162. This event is well-known in Coast Guard aviation history, and since he was the first to die, that would be where my book would start. Or so I thought. Soon, I discovered that there had been a fatal crash some eight months earlier, one that had been overlooked by the Coast Guard historians. Thus began the unraveling of a mystery. Smuggling Along the Borders It might seem surprising to find the Coast Guard—let alone a Coast Guard air detachment—in San Antonio, Texas, far from the nearest coastline. However, a unique series of events led to the creation of a Coast Guard Air Detachment there, supporting U.S. Customs and Border Patrol efforts to combat smuggling along the border. During Prohibition, smuggling reached unprecedented levels. While the Coast Guard focused on patrolling the coastlines, Customs and Border Patrol agents struggled to monitor the expansive borders. It quickly became apparent that airplanes were the most effective way to cover vast stretches of land. However, while the Coast Guard had aircraft, the Border Patrol lacked both planes and the funds to operate them. Fortunately, the smugglers themselves provided a solution. Customs officials began seizing aircraft from smugglers and repurposing them for their own makeshift "Air Force. " Although there was no funding for these operations, and Washington officially discouraged their use, the men on the front lines found the planes to be the right tool at the right time. In Texas, with assistance from the U.S. Army at Dodd Field, Fort Sam Houston, near San Antonio, a collection of ragtag aircraft was kept in the air using outdated parts and whatever materials were available. Eventually, they were assigned an old hangar on the field. That these planes were even operational was a minor miracle. Yet, despite the odds, they proved highly effective in curbing smuggling activities. Their success became too apparent to ignore. But the real question was: what could Washington do about it? Coast Guard Assumes Control After months of inter-agency negotiations, Secretary of the Treasury Henry Morgenthau intervened in 1934 with a solution. He directed that all aviation activities within the department be consolidated under one organization that already had trained pilots and aircraft: the Coast Guard. As a result, on March 9, 1934, the U.S. Customs’ air operations were officially transferred to the Coast Guard. Air detachments were established in Buffalo, New York; San Diego, California; and San Antonio, Texas, to assist the Customs and Border Patrol in their efforts. Although the order provided no additional funding, the Coast Guard formally acquired 15 aircraft from Customs, at least on paper. Coast Guard personnel arrived at Dodd Field that spring to take over air patrol duties. A small team of five men, led by Lieutenant Clarence (Larry) F. Edge, was tasked with monitoring nearly 2,000 miles of border between Mexico and the U.S. borders of Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona. First Deadly Crash A bit before 11 a.m. on the morning of May 29, 1934, one of the former Customs planes, a Curtiss Falcon Mailplane, was readied for a transport flight. Lt. Edge was flying Harry L. Sexton, the U.S. Collector of Customs for San Antonio, home from a meeting in El Paso. The plane took from the dirt runway of Briggs Field, Fort Bliss, El Paso; however, shortly after takeoff, Lt. Edge noticed . . . |
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The Extraordinary Flight of the Moscow Mule William P Lear was a legendary “Can-Do” American entrepreneur who had made his original fortune in the earty days of radio in the U.S. and was associated with the first successful car radio brand, Motorola. He was a pilot (surviving a crash in his Beech Staggerwing in 1939) and turned his attention to aviation electronics including radios, auto-pilots and automatic direction finders. In June 1956 he was travelling in Europe marketing his Lear brand compact avionics from his smart white, blue and yellow Cessna 310B N77L (c/n 35117) when he learned of a forthcoming Air Show in Moscow. (The USSR was opening up to an extent after Stalin’s death, the period known as "The Krushchev Thaw "). Legend has it that Lear applied for a visa from the Russians at short notice and was given it in 24 hours (without the U.S. Government’s knowledge). Bill Lear and his wife Moya landed in East Berlin to pick up the obligatory Russian navigator then flew on to Moscow where he was apparently permitted a half-hour aerial tour over the city. The Soviets were greatly interested in the compact and advanced Lear multichannel radio, A.D.F and autopilot in the Cessna. There was also an official U.S. delegation including Air Force General Nathan C Twining in a USAF C-118 at the Air Show. When the U.S. Embassy learned of Lear’s sales efforts he was hauled in and reminded of the U.S. embargo on selling equipment with military value to the Soviets. Lear later commented that the Russian autopilot on their new Tu-104 was like something from the B-17 but he abandoned attempts to sell his equipment directly to the Russians. Since Lear avionics were commercially available in the West, the Soviets no doubt acquired examples to analyse with ease. N77L was named the "Moscow Mule" celebrating the first private flight into Russia since before Wortd War II. By the late 1950s Lear was more involved with the Learstar (his Lodestar conversion) and N77L was sold in Franoe in 1960 as F-BJOF and believed withdrawn from use in 1974. |
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This issue of the Forum focuses on contributions from a number of members focusing on broad spectrum of subjects, many at recent events. The Society has thousands of images in need of cataloging. You can help by volunteering to assist in cataloging from your on home. Interested in helping? Go to www.AAHSPlaneSpotter.com and check the system out. The FORUM is presented as an opportunity for each member to participate in the Journal by submitting interesting or unusual photographs. Most of the images come from contributions to the AAHS archives. Unfortunately, with older images the contributor information has been lost. Where known, we acknowledge them. |
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Request for Assistance Can anyone identify this aircraft? We’ve received an inquiry for one of out members asking for assistance in idenifying the aircraft pictured here. Beyond the photo, nothing is known about the aircraft’s make and model, possible location of the photo, etc.<br> |
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Late last year AAHS was approached by a local benefactor interested in assisting AAHS in building out more space for our aviation collections and preservation efforts. Since that time we have had ongoing discussions with the leadership at Flabob Airport regarding how we could make this addition to AAHS’ "footprint" at Flabob bigger. We can ALWAYS use space; with our increased incoming donations of late, we are devoting more effort (and square footage) towards cataloging and dispositioning the aviation items placed in our care. It also could be the opportunity we need to build the right sort of space to effectively preserve the aviation history we’ve spent nearly 70 years collecting. The proposed addition to our living space comes with the expectation that AAHS will initiate, lead and manage an ongoing docent program that supports the various history venues built or currently under construction at Flabob Airport. Flabob Airport, in addition to its several youth education programs, is striving to become a kind of "history village," where visitors can see and touch aviation history from various eras. Flabob has already developed a Wright Flyer history building, along with a hangar devoted to early aviation race planes. They are currentlyconstructing a hangar devoted to the "golden age" of aviation (1920s-1930s), a jet hangar, and a memorial to the aviators of the Vietnam conflict. AAHS would train volunteers to guide visitors through these history venues, and possibly assist Flabob management with larger group tours. The prospect of a new building for AAHS has been a heady challenge, while developing a docent program has added another dimension to our already full plate of important tasks planned for this year, such as the initiation of a new AAHS digital platform. We are reaching out to you – could you lend a hand to assist AAHS, at this critical junction in our existence? Creating history materials for the planned docent program, updating our social media with news bits, assisting in helping writers with upcoming journal articles, or identifying aviation photographs, are all things that can be done remotely, and don’t require a presence at the AAHS office. Many other aviation clubs/organizations have since closed down, due to low member interaction, reduced interest, lack of funds, etc. We at AAHS are very blessed in that we are situated at a historic site that shares our future interests. With careful management we can manage our publication costs. What we REALLY need is some time from you, our members, so that as an organization we can complete tasks that are both critical AND time sensitive, AND meet our member needs. Email me at my work address- and I’ll see if we can match an AAHS need to any time you may have to offer. And thank you! |
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