St Louis aircraft factory, 1944. Linked from airandspacemuseum.org.
In remembrance of my grampa, Jay Hvistendahl, I’d like to share a letter of his. During WWII, he worked at a glider manufacturing facility– gliders that were made to be towed behind a powered plane and then be released to fly by momentum and thermal updrafts and such for quiet surveilence. The following letter describes a situation he got into there while testing an experimental engine designed to give them partial power to increase their range– not intended for take-off.
What follows is his account of what happened during testing one day.
December 6, 1944
To: Mr. Murray Whitehead
The usual group came out to the airport on Sunday; Nowak, Chapman, Knudsen, and several others. Inasmuch as Murray Whitehead did not show up, we decided to try out the new propellers on the power glider and were just going to taxi the ship back and forth on the field, as we had done In the past.
We got the ship out and started up the engines, taxied around to the end of the runway. It just so happened that I was the smallest of the group and had taxied it several times before; thus, I became the “guinea pig” for this afternoon’s taxiing, We had gassed the ship up and everything was set for several runs up and down the field. Then all was clear and there were no ships on the field or about to land, the first run down the airport was started.
I didn’t have the throttles clear open this trip, but they were just about there, and noticed that with the new propellers, the thrust was much greater and the ship moved across the ground a lot faster than it ever had before.
After much wing dipping and maneuvering at the end of the field I finally managed to turn around by myself, and by making “S” turns, finally got straightened out on the runway and headed back down wind. Upon reaching the hangar end of the field, John Nowak was waiting there to turn me around for the next run into the wind. He straightened the ship around and I started down the field with full throttle.
It wasn’t far until two or three little bumps in the field put me up into the air a few inches. The next to the last bump evidently set me down in a small hole, which bounded the ship about ten feet in the air.
Much to my surprise, it didn’t come down again. Inasmuch as I was then three-quarters of the way down the field, I had about one split second to make the choice of crashing the ship into the telephone lines and fence at the end of the field in trying to set it down, or trying to climb over the same obstacles and set it down in a plowed field the other side of the airport.
The boys say that it looked like I went underneath the wires between the posts at the end of the field. However, I actually cleared them by a good nine inches, though I assure you that I didn’t get out to measure it at the time.
Once over the wires, it was necessary, or at least it happened that the ship dropped down below the trees that were just ahead and I was in a predicament for good—figuring I was going to wind up in the top branches of these trees. However, several sparrows that were sitting on top of the trees now have no feathers, and I did manage to get over.
From then on, not caring to set the ship down away from the airport due to the long time it would take to tear it apart to bring it back, I decided to hedge-hop until I could, once again, get back to the field and land. I skirted the first half-mile of the fields at about fence-top altitude, came to a road with trees and wires, and had to struggle over again.
On the other side of these, a little bit of altitude was saved, and the ship then was about fifteen feet above the ground. Had a farmhouse and some trees and wires ahead of me to hop over, as I was too low to turn. We made these all right, without too much to spare. I had come on this way straight ahead for about a mile and a half, and was heading into a hill—so- I had to do something about that.
By this time the altitude must have been in the neighborhood of 25 feet. So I attempted a very, flat bank to make 180° turn, and headed back towards the airport. In this slight bank, the resultant skid dropped me down to about six or eight feet above the ground.
The next mile, hopping over what seemed to me like a thousand trees and fences, I managed to gain enough altitude to make another flat bank into the wind, in hopes of getting a little higher. As I started to make this turn, I looked flown to my left and noticed that I was coming into a corn field nicely out with very beautiful corn shocks about four or five feet above the ground, and it was necessary to weave the wing tip in and out, to avoid hitting them. I was so intent on this operation that 1 didn’t notice what was coming up on me from the front.
Once I leveled out, here was a very beautiful cow barn smack in front of me about fifty feet—at least, it looked that close—and I still swear, to this day, that there must be a groove in the top of that barn, I don’t know how else I got over.
On the other side of the barn, the altitude remained at about 25 feet, evidently from what I gained in zooming the barn. I didn’t look back, but Imagine the farmers are still trying to round up their chickens.
All this time, the little motors were pouring all 16 horsepower and it sounded like three or four out boards in a race. I don’t know what I would have done if one of them had ever missed a beat. Anyway, another 180° turn was necessary, because the same hill was still there (it hadn’t moved) and, as usual, in making this turn I, found myself once more clipping the hedges.
This time the turn didn’t come out quite 180 and- I found myself headed into a small village with an enormous water tower staring me in the face and a cotton wood which must have been about 55 feet high, just in front of it, I was too low to turn either way, and there was not much chance of diving to gain speed, so resigned myself to the few words “I guess this is it.”
However, I still didn’t give up but gained all the speed possible in what little diving I could do, hauled back on the stick, and lo and behold I found myself up above the tree and yet high enough to clear the water tower—and if you don’t think that’s a big relief you’ve got another think coming! The little ship had more pep in it than I’d given it credit for up to this point.
All this time that I was battling with the trees and fences, barns, and what-have-you, Laister was hovering over me in the company Stinson, like a mother bird. Evidently he had his fingers and toes crossed, because I am here to tell this story.
With this altitude of about fifty feet (by the thumb rule, for you see, I had no instruments of any kind in the ship either to tell me how fast or how high I was) I headed for the airport just as fast as those lovely little motors would carry me.
By the time I came over the trees at the end of the airport, the ship and I must have gained about seventy feet, and with this very comfortable margin, to what I had had before, decided to turn back into the wind and try to climb a little bit higher.
From then on for the next hour, by circling back and forth over the airport, the amazing altitude of 1800 feet was finally reached, and by experimenting as I got a safer altitude, I could tell how steep I could climb the ship without stalling.
Along about 1500 or 1600 feet, Chapman and Nowak pulled alongside in the Stinson 105, and with various funny motions, tried to tell me that I was going too slow. I could have answered them in some pretty strong words that I knew it but that there was nothing I could do about it because I knew that it was just above the stalling speed, which made me traveling about 45 miles per hour. (They verified this later).
Johnny motioned with five fingers to me through the window. He was thinking in terns of 50 miles per hour and I was thinking in terms of altitude all this time, and mistook him in meaning climb to 5,000 feet, and all I could do was laugh at him because I was having trouble trying to get to 1800 feet.
By this time, with the nervous experience near the ground and the cold, I was shaking and chattering, and decided to make a landing. I shut off one engine at a time and glided back into the airport, as a glider, which felt much better to me.
The result of this accidental flight is as follows:
I was in the air an hour and ten minutes; traveled at an average speed, I should Judge, of about 48 miles per hour, and climbed very close to 1800 feet. It was still going up at this point, but my temperature was going down so much that I had to come in.
I feel that, if we have a little more horsepower, it will be a fine combination for an enjoyable sport—the combination of power to take the glider into the air, and on shutting off the power, becoming a glider to soar around, as all dyed-in-the-wool glider pilots like to do.
This little episode is written simply because I am so tired of having to tell it to every other person I meet at the plant.
Thought you might be able to use it in wilder release or some other way, whatever you see fit.
JH:JB Jay Hvistendahl