Setting a standard: The author recalls what it was like to operate a war-surplus standard J-I during 1930

Air Classics, Jun 2003 by Thompson, Cormac C

We sat at the north end of the strip for several minutes. By "we," I mean yours truly and 5264, a Standard J-1 powered (barely) by a 90-hp Curtiss OX-5.

It was a beautiful summer day in 1930 and the machine appeared to be ready. The engine seemed to turn up and I judged it was making close to 1300-rpm by its sound. There was a tachometer in the cockpit but no tach drive to connect it with the engine. Checking the mag was simple since there was only one and all eight cylinders were running smoothly. The radiator was full and it was not leaking. There were twelve gallons of fuel aboard - plenty for a short test flight.

Old 5264 had just been refurbished. There was new fabric on the top wings, the center section and one bottom wing - that was a lot of unbleached muslin and dope when you consider that the J-1's wing area was close to 430-sq-ft. Counting dope and fabric and $150 for the well-used OX-5, the total investment for the J-1 hit about $400.

All evidence indicated that the big biplane was ready. The engine had been run the day before and I knew it would fly since it lifted off once during a fast run down the 800-ft dirt and grass strip. The question mark in this dual team of man and machine was myself. I knew I could takeoff but could I land? Satisfactorily, that is!

It had been 15 months since I had flown. That fact, together with the other sobering fact that my solo flight time amounted to 30 minutes, resulted in a cautious approach to this impending test hop.

In reflecting on this moment over seven decades later, I concluded that if no one had been watching I might have taxied back to the tie-down spot, shut the engine off and gone home. However, it is well-known that many of the stellar performances executed by mankind or individuals resulted because their friends were watching. Who wants to chicken out when people are on hand to see what's going to happen?

So, there was only one course of action: Take a deep breath and open the throttle and then keep it open.

With a wing loading of only about 4.5-lb per square foot, and even with a disheartening power loading of 22-lb per horsepower, the Standard broke ground amazingly soon. We were airborne and climbing to 200-ft. Not like a jet, mind you, but on the way up and I slowly exhaled at about 100-ft of altitude. It was flying okay and I used arm muscle for trim.

It was a little tail heavy, but not bad - nothing that a little forward pressure wouldn't cure. At 200-ft, we started a gentle left turn with the nose slightly below the horizon like most OX-5 students were taught in the good old days. Next thing, I had to get the behemoth lined up for landing. We came downwind, another shallow turn, lined up with the 800-ft strip and reduced power. The urge to see if I could land after a 15-month hiatus was superseding common sense. Keep the nose down, don't stall!

I judged we were about 500-ft from the north end of the strip and it looked like maybe this was a little too high and too close in. But no problem - just nose down more, flare and land. This was easier than I thought. I nosed down sharply and the ground came up faster than I had ever seen. I pulled back on the stick too late. WHAM!

The whole airframe rattled as the gear hit terra firma and there I was, 15 or 20-ft in the air and no runway in sight. Fortunately, I had fast reflexes. Full throttle and the engine roared to life. Standard 5264 shuddered and climbed slowly away from the strip. I noticed my knees were shaking and my pulse rate was up. And one big question was still with me - could I land this thing?

I took more time on the next trip around for two reasons: First, to figure out what I had done wrong and, second, to calm down a little.

This time I started the approach way back and carried a little power all the way to the fence. Clearing the fence by maybe five feet, I closed the throttle, pulled back on the stick and settled in, stopping 200-ft from the fence as the tailskid dug in. I knew one thing for sure - that my audience wondered just as much as I did whether or I could land 5264. Anyway, that was it for the day. It was back to the tiedown ropes and a good way to end 20 August 1930.

I always felt lucky to have owned and flown that old Standard J-1. It was a link, even then, with the past. We reverently referred to her as "the old Standard." World War One had ended only a dozen years before but to our youth that was ancient history. The old Standard was only 14 years old in 1930.

Before I got 5264, the craft had participated in aviation history. Emblazoned on the fuselage was the proclamation "First airplane to land in Death Valley." Tex Rankin, noted Northwest aviator who opened a flying school in 1920 in Walla Walla, Washington, was a past owner of 5264. He sold the ship to Charley Scott of Wasco who, in turn, sold it to Charles and Alister McAllister who also lived in Wasco. In the early 1920s, Charles and Al flew the Standard to Yakima, Washington, where they started the McAllister School of Flying. I bought the Standard, less engine, from Charley in early 1930.