Secrets of the Spruce Goose

Flight Journal, Jun 2004 by Kirkland, Richard C

ON NOVEMBER 2, 1947, the aviation world was buzzing with excitement and speculation that had not been seen since Charles Lindbergh's 1927 flight from New York to Paris. The focus of this attention was Howard Hughes' giant HK-1 flying boat, which the press dubbed "Spruce Goose."

The mysterious and controversial Hughes had announced that his aircraft, the world's largest, would finally roll out of its guarded berth on Terminal Island, Long Beach, California, for "taxi tests." The federally funded, all-wood aircraft had been under stealthy construction since 1942, and it was the subject of much controversy and congressional debate, including accusations that it was a "giant boondoggle" and would never fly.

Hughes vehemently denied the charge and claimed that he had spent millions of his own on the project; he said that if the plane didn't fly, he would leave the country. The media accentuated the suspense by giving the event headline priority in newspapers and on the radio.

That morning, in the pilot's ready room at McChord Air Force Base, Washington, my squadron mates and I debated the question of whether he would try to fly it, and if he did, if it would fly.

As the world found out later that day, the Spruce Goose, aka "Hercules," did fly! Howard Hughes flew it off the waters of Long Beach Harbor and into the history books as the largest aircraft ever flown; that record, in terms of wingspan, still stands today. It was an incredible accomplishment because it was designed and built in "BC" (before computers) years, and if you consider that Hughes and his engineers had little or no data to use in designing such an aircraft, you get a sense of the challenges they faced.

At the outbreak of WW II, U.S. military leaders needed an aircraft that could carry cargo and 500 troops to Europe because Nazi submarines were sinking ships faster than they could be built. Most aeronautical gurus of that time were skeptical; Hughes thought differently.

Successful shipbuilder Henry Reiser claimed that he could mass-produce such an aircraft if someone designed and built the first one. He teamed with Hughes; they were awarded a government contract that specified that no strategic materials, including aluminum, could be used in the plane's construction. Hughes solved that monumental challenge by building the giant out of laminated wood and epoxy resin glues. Ironically, birch was the primary wood used, not spruce.

The story of the aircraft's design, construction and flight involved the classic Howard Hughes intrigue, genius and politics that now have become legend. My contribution to the story is a fascinating little secret that I learned through a twist of fate.

After my Air Force career, I was hired by the Aircraft Division of Hughes Tool Co. as a sales-demonstration pilot. In the fall of 1970, I was doing a demonstration in Las Vegas. Rae Hopper, the general manager of Hughes Tools, invited me to have dinner with him. The invitation sizzled with spice because we planned to eat at the old Desert Inn (DI), where Howard Hughes lived upstairs in the penthouse.

The Gourmet Room at the DI was a classy place in those days, and being with the big boss, I was a bit nervous. But Hopper was a down-to-earth guy, and after we had had a couple of martinis and talked for a while, I got the courage to ask him about the flying boat. I knew he had been the chief engineer and had been with Hughes on the day he flew it.

"Mr. Hopper, do you think Mr. Hughes will fly the Hercules again?" I ventured.

Hopper smiled and said, "It's fascinating to imagine, isn't it?"

"It sure is," I quickly replied, relieved that he hadn't been offended by the question.

He took a sip of his martini and said, "The truth is, Richard, no one ever knows what Howard Hughes is going to do."

It wasn't the answer I wanted. I knew Hughes still had a crew working on the Hercules in its guarded hangar at Long Beach, California, and company scuttlebutt had it that he was planning to shock the aviation world with another flight. I decided to pursue the subject. "You were with him on that first flight, weren't you Mr. Hopper?" I knew he had been, but I hoped that he would talk about it.

He hesitated. Then, as though his thoughts flashed back to that day, he said, "Yes, I was; what an experience. You may remember Howard had announced that we were only going to do taxi tests. But we all knew he desperately wanted to fly it. And he believed that it could fly, as we all did, having spent five years of our lives building it. But there were unknowns-factors we couldn't predict.

"After we got out into the harbor channel that day and Howard had given it some throttle, I could see that he was encouraged by the way it handled. He made three separate taxi runs up and down the harbor, and he got up to about 30 knots without any problems. After that, the news reporters aboard assumed the test was over; they took a water taxi back to the dock to file their stories.

"Howard decided to make one more run, so he taxied back down the harbor and swung into the wind. When I heard him call for 15 degrees of flaps, I knew that he was going to go for it and, before I could repeat my earlier warning, he pushed the throttles to full power and the Here roared."