The Man Called Brown Condor (6 page)

“Three years of college. I been working nearly two years in Detroit. I put together that car parked out there by the fence, rebuilt the engine.”

“Have you done any brazing work and can you get an outfit?”

Johnny nodded ‘yes' and answered, “I can borrow an outfit from the shop in town.”

Percy picked up a stepladder leaning against the wall, walked over to the engine of his Jenny, and set the ladder up. “Climb up there and look real close at the neck of the radiator under the filler cap.” Johnny climbed up as he was told. “You see that hairline crack right there near the top?” Percy pointed at the spot.

Johnny nodded. “Looks more like a scratch than a crack.”

“That's why it took me so long to find it. You start it up and everything works fine. You taxi out, take off. About ten or fifteen minutes into the flight, the engine runs rough and then quits. You glide down and land somewhere, get out, and look it over and find nothing. You prop the engine, it starts right up like nothing's wrong. I found I had to add a little water the next day. That made no sense. Next day it quit in the air. It was a real thrill for the passenger, I tell you. I could start the engine again, takeoff, and ten minutes later it would quit again. I couldn't get out of gliding distance from this cow pasture. Finally, I tied the tail to the fence, cranked the engine, set the throttle at about eight hundred revolutions per minute, and let her sit there and run. That's when I saw the trouble. As soon as this thing gets good and hot, that tiny crack opens up and water spews out of it in a fine spray that blows over the engine from the prop wash. It shorts out the spark plugs, and then the engine starts missing and quits. When it did that while I was flying, by the time I got it down the water had evaporated, the engine had cooled, and that hairline crack was closed up. That's why I couldn't find the trouble. Anyway, boy, you get that brazing outfit out here and fix this thing and I'll give you the ride you want. But you mess up, burn a hole in the radiator, I'll put more than a hairline crack in your water jacket. You understand me? You better know what you're doing or don't fool with it.”

John didn't care much for the ill-tempered Percy, but he figured he had a chance to do two things. One was to fly for the first time. The other was to show the redheaded bastard that a black mechanic could put him back in business. He looked at Percy.

“It's a deal. It will take me a while to get to town and back, but I'll fix it for a chance to fly.”

It was three-thirty in the afternoon when they rolled the faded yellow Jenny out of the hangar.

“Well Robinson, your work is pretty enough. Now we'll see if it holds. You stand there while Robert gives the prop a twist. You'll do that for me, will you, Robert?”

While working on the radiator, John had learned that Percy's friend, Robert Williamson, was fresh out of Harvard and had returned to Detroit to work for his father. Percy had taught him how to fly, a fact Robert's father still did not know. Robert had paid for his flying lessons and bought the red WACO-9 with money his grandfather had left him, also without his father's knowledge.

Robert walked up to the prop. “This is your first lesson, John. This is the end that will bite you if you're not careful. Watch and learn.”

He called out, “Switch off! Throttle closed!”

Percy called back, “Off and closed.”

Although the Jenny's tail skid would generally hold the plane in place while the engine idled, the plane had no brakes. Should the throttle be inadvertently left open while cranking, the plane, even with a wheel chocked, could easily run down anyone standing in front of it. The results would not be pleasant.

Robert pulled the propeller through several times. “Switch on! Contact!”

Percy cracked the throttle open a little and repeated, “Contact!”

Robert put both hands on the big wooden propeller, swung his right leg up toward the plane, and, in one fluid motion, swung the leg back as he sharply pulled the prop blade down. The momentum of his right leg swinging out behind him twisted him around and carried him away from the propeller. From there, a couple of steps and he was safely to the side. After three attempts, the engine coughed, burped, and roared alive with a belch of blue smoke, then settled down to a more or less smooth rumble, idling at around 450 revolutions a minute.

Robert pulled the chock from in front of the left wheel and grabbed hold of the outer wing strut. He motioned for John to do the same on the right wing. Percy, after checking to see that his “anchor” men were all set, advanced the throttle. The engine roared, the grass behind flattened in the prop wash, dust and loose leaves swirled behind while the plane shook from wing tip to tail. Robert and John had to dig their heels in to keep the plane from dragging them forward. After what seemed to the two “anchor” men a lot longer than ten minutes, Percy closed the throttle, pulled the fuel mixture control to the Off position, and switched off the magneto. The field was suddenly quiet. Percy jumped down, grabbed the ladder, and ran around front to check the radiator.

“Dry as a bone. 'Tis a good job, Robinson.”

John hardly had a chance to break into a grin before two carloads of chattering young people drove up.

“Hey, Percy! Quit fooling around over there. I've brought my Sunday School class out to take a ride with you.”

The voice belonged to a young lady waving from the running board of a shiny touring car that had parked by the fence.

“Come on, Percy dear, all six of us want a ride.” She stepped down from the car and came through the gate followed by three other girls and two young men.

“Sue said you shot down a German in 1918. Is that true, Mr. Percy?”

Percy tried to not look embarrassed. The more he tried, the closer his face came to matching his flaming red hair. He took a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped at the oil stains on his face and hands. “Young lady, 'tis too pretty an afternoon to talk about such things. Sue, why don't the lot of you draw straws to see in what order you'll be flying while we get some fuel.” Percy motioned to Robert and Johnny to follow him over to where two metal barrels were lying on a wooden rack. He picked up a five-gallon can equipped with a spout and began filling it from the petcock of one of the barrels.

“Come on,” Johnny said. “I mean, what about our deal? I've done my part.”

“So you have,” replied Percy. “And I'll take you up, but I can't do it right now. Can't you see the situation here? I mean, I can't take you for a ride and make them sit over there and wait. Can't you understand what I'm saying?”

“I understand what you're saying. You're telling me you can't make that nice white Sunday School class wait around while you take a nigger for a ride.”

Percy turned blood red in the face, and Robert stepped between the two men.

Percy hissed, “Damn you, boy. Can't you understand anything? If I hadn't given you my word on this deal, I'd split your head wide open for a crack like that. Look at 'em. Six people over there, each one with five dollars for a ride. That's thirty dollars! I can buy a brand new surplus OX5 engine for fifty dollars. Hell, there are more people waiting over there than I flew all last week because of that damn radiator.”

Johnny looked past Robert straight at Percy.

“Look,” said Percy, “I got six dollars in my pocket. You take all six dollars for fixing the engine or you come back when I ain't got a line of paying passengers waiting.”

Johnny looked more humble than angry. “I don't want your money. I want to fly. I want to fly more than all those people over there. I been waiting to fly all my life.”

“And I need that thirty dollars to stay in business.”

“Okay. Both of you listen,” Robert J. Williamson III broke in. “Percy, you go fly the Sunday School, and I'll take our friend John here up in my plane in exchange for two hours of lessons in stunt flying from you.” He turned to John. “Robinson, will you settle for thirty minutes or so with me for free instead of ten minutes with him even though I'm too young to have any Germans to my credit?”

All three men exchanged glances. Robert was the first to smile. Percy looked quizzically at Johnny, who was looking over his shoulder at the red biplane waiting in the hangar.

In spite of the hurt and anger he had felt moments ago, he broke into a wide grin and laughed out loud. “You white boys just made yourselves a deal.”

Robert and John helped Percy top off the Jenny and strap his first passenger into the front cockpit. The warm engine caught on the first swing of the prop. To a round of applause, the Jenny waddled off over the grass, bumping and bouncing as it gained speed. After only a few hundred feet it lifted into the air, labored to clear the trees at the end of the field, and turned gracefully away, free and clear.

“All right, John, help me roll out the WACO.” Robert motioned for John to move behind the right wing and push on the outer wing strut while he did the same on the left. Compared to the maze of bracing wires and multiple inter-plane struts that braced the wings of the Jenny, the WACO-9 was a sleek, uncluttered design. As did many such post-war designs, the WACO used the same Army surplus, ninety horsepower, Curtiss OX5 engine as the Jenny. The reason was simple. Although it was heavy, 390 pounds not including the radiator, it was both plentiful and cheap. Compared to the Jenny, the WACO-9 was smaller, lighter, and had a strong steel-tube fuselage, all of which gave it far better performance. With its glossy new crimson paint, it was beautiful. Robert Williamson had used $2,475.50 of the rather sizable sum his grandfather left him to pay for it. Of the ninety-one hours of flying time to his credit, the last forty-seven had been logged in the WACO.

“John, walk around her with me and I'll explain anything you want to know while I check things out. I haven't had one problem with her yet. I had six forced landings in that damn Jenny, four of them with Percy and two by myself. That taught me to always keep an eye out for a clear place to land.” He pointed to the radiator. Unlike the Jenny that had the radiator attached to the front of the engine, the WACO's radiator was mounted just under the center of the upper wing. “Hasn't leaked a drop yet. Of course if it does, hot water will blow back on the passenger and pilot, but mounted up there it likely won't short out the ignition. It does interfere with forward visibility, you have to look under it and over the nose, but you get used to it. ”

Robinson asked so many questions that Robert finally protested, “If we don't get going, Percy will have us fueling up the Jenny again and acting as ticket takers. Besides, for a fellow who's never flown, you seem to know a lot about planes.”

“I guess I been reading 'bout airplanes as long as I can remember, but this is as close to one I've ever been. Now it's really gonna happen. I'm gonna fly.”

Robert grinned at him. “Not if you don't get up in that front cockpit. Step up on that black step pad there on the wing and swing your legs on in. Put on that pair of goggles hanging on the throttle. I don't have an extra helmet. Here, I'll give you a hand with your seat belt.”

When Robert was satisfied that John wouldn't fall out, he instructed him on what to touch and what not to touch and explained the flight controls. Then he reached in the rear cockpit to make sure the magneto switch was off and the throttle closed. He walked around front, turned the propeller through eight blades, walked back around, climbed up on the wing, reached in the cockpit, cracked the throttle open a bit, and switched on the single magneto.

“John, remember, when she catches you close the throttle like I showed you and hold the stick all the way back. Otherwise this thing might run over me and take you God knows where. Now, you got it?”

“I got it!” John was more excited than he had ever been in his life. He was also a little afraid, but he managed to look calm. At least he thought so.

“Relax, John. If you don't loosen your grip on that stick, your hand is going to turn as white as mine.” With that, Robert jumped off the wing and walked around front.

“Here goes.” Robert grabbed the propeller blade with the fingers of both hands, called, “Contact!” and gave the blade a hefty swing, careful to stay clear of its arc. The plane rocked slightly but nothing else happened. The second attempt woke up the OX5. It spit, belched a little smoke, and settled down to behave itself with a smooth, rhythmic 450 revolutions a minute.

Robert climbed back up on the wing and leaned over Robinson. “While we're up I'm going to let you try your hand. If I wiggle the stick like this,” he moved the stick quickly side to side several times, “it means you can take over and fly. If I wiggle it while you have it, you let go so I can take it back. When that happens I want to see both your hands held high to let me know you understand. I don't want you freezing up with a death grip on the controls. That could kill us both. Understand?”

John nodded that he did.

Robert continued. “I won't be able to hear you, so if everything is all right after we do a maneuver, put your thumb up like this. If you don't like it, shake your head from side to side. If you want to come down, point down and I'll bring us back and land. You got it?”

John started to answer, then grinned and held his thumb up. Robert slapped him on his shoulder, climbed into the rear cockpit, fastened his seat belt, buckled on his flying helmet, and pulled his goggles over his eyes. He checked the oil pressure instrument. Satisfied, Robert taxied the plane toward the downwind end of the field. There he stopped and tested the controls. (A magneto check was not needed. Unlike modern aircraft, the OX5 did not have dual ignition. If it was running smoothly, then the single ignition was working. You didn't make a static power run-up check either—there were no brakes on the WACO. Instead of a tail wheel it had a tail skid, the only thing to slow it down on the ground.) Robert twisted his neck around to check the sky for traffic. He saw Percy lined up on final approach for a landing. The Jenny floated over them, settled to the ground, and taxied toward the eager group of waiting passengers.