Airdrop

Flight Journal, Aug 2004

"COPIES OF data and information we obtained THROUGH YEARS OF RESEARCH in Boeing archives AS WELL AS PAA AND PAN AM HISTORICAL DATA provided us WITH MUCH knowledge OF THIS BEAUTIFUL AND ONCE very innovative design."

From the horse's ... er ... restorer's mouth

With much interest, I have followed the "Airdrop" letters in the last two issues that discussed the proper designation for the Boeing 307 Stratoliner. Perhaps I can clarify.

I have spent the better part of the last 10 years working on the restoration of the sole remaining Stratoliner-Pan Am NC19903, "Flying Cloud." This included recovery from 22 years in storage, complete restoration to nearly original configuration (twice, as we almost lost it in a saltwater dunking), flying to Oshkosh for display in 2001 and 2003 and delivery to the National Air and Space Museum Udvar-Hazy Center in August 2003.

Copies of data and information we obtained through years of research in Boeing archives as well as FAA (formerly CAA) and Pan Am historical data provided us with much knowledge of this beautiful and once very innovative design. A copy of the Boeing application for registration dated December 20, 1939, shows model S-307. Following flight-testing for certification, the CAA issued Type Certificate no. 719 on March 13, 1940, for Model S-307. Certificate no. 719 is still active and was updated for "Flying Cloud" airworthiness in 2001.

Aircraft specification sheet no. 719 with detailed performance specifications for S-307 with Wright Aeronautical Co. GR-1820G-102 engines was issued on the same date.

Pan Am took delivery of three S-307s in June 1940, and TWA put five SA-307B-1 Stratoliners into service the same year. Those five were later modified by the U.S. Army and used during WW II as C-75s. The Howard Hughes SB-307B had Wright R-2600s at one time, as he intended to attempt an aroundthe-world speed record. Apparently, the events of WW II prevented that, and the airplane remained in storage for many years.

I hope this dispels any confusion. I enjoy your magazine, and I think I am one of your original subscribers. Keep up the good work.

GARY DAWSON

SEATTLE, WA

Thanks, Gary. It's always good to get the official word from those in the know. RP

No meatballs, please

It came to my attention that the P-38F (AC41-7630), now named Glacier Girl, has incorrect national insignias. As you can see in Glacier Girl's original crash-landed photo on the icecap, there isn't a "meatball" in sight. They were removed per an AAF directive issued on May 28, 1942, and which existed until June 1943. That order came out following the Battle of Midway where overly anxious U.S. gunners shot down their own aircraft because they only saw the red circles and not the white star with its blue outer circle.

To be representative of that P-38F as it flew during the summer of 1942 on that historic mission, the meatballs should be deleted. Yes, the Lightning will be less colorful, but after all the expense involved in Glacier Girl's restoration, the markings should be correct.

WARREN M. BOOIE

HAYESVILLE, NC

More bailouts

Add to the list of harrowing falls that Barrett Tillman listed in his super article, "Bailout," in the February 2004 issue the name of Lt. Ed Dickson, who, in 1964, ejected from an A-4 Skyhawk while on a training flight over the high Sierras in California. The seat fired normally and he had good separation from it, but his parachute did not open. He landed in a deep snowdrift and had only minor injuries. His rescuers arrived by truck and tossed his parachute into the back. Driving down the mountain trail, the chute opened by itself. They had passed the 10,000-foot level at which the automatic opener was set to work. The barostats were all immediately reprogrammed to open the chute at 14,000 feet.

Ironically, Lt. Dickson was killed in a strike over North Vietnam in February 1965.

ROBERT R. POWELL

VIRGINIA BEACH, VA

The great article by Barrett Tillman in the February 2004 issue reminded me of a similarly hair-raising bailout that I watched from within the formation. My friend Dan Dayton and I were fresh Naval aviators and even fresher ensigns. We had been aviation midshipmen and had graduated from flight training in March 1950. We reported to VA-15 stationed at NAS Jacksonville, Florida, on April 19, 1950, and were given our commissions in June.

On August 4, 1950, the skipper, Lt. Cmdr. Clay Mitchell, led us on a training flight over the Atlantic just off the coast near Jacksonville. At the end of the flight, he said he was going to detach and empty his guns (into the water). So the rest of the squadron continued a left circle at about 1,000 feet until he came back. When he returned, he made a fatal error that every Naval aviator knew was prohibited. Instead of joining up with the flight at the rear and then flying to the front, he tried to join up front in his original spot, and, even worse, he tried to do it from inside the orbit being made by the squadron. That required him to "throw up" his right wing as he approached the formation. And that, in turn, caused him to lose sight of the planes he was trying to join up on. The result was a midair collision with his wingman, my friend Dan.