by Les Harding
Prior to the flights the navy transported Douglas to Havana so he could choose a suitable landing field. Douglas took a second aircraft along with him so that no matter what happened during the flight they would still be able to put on an aerial show.
Douglas was a daredevil but he was not foolhardy. A cautious man who left nothing to chance, he planned to mark the course between Key West and Havana with smoke from the destroyers’ funnels. It was found that the smoke could be seen for more than 20 kilometres. Rescue procedures were also discussed. A platform was built on the deck of the Pauling. In the event that his aircraft had to ditch at sea and was not damaged, Douglas intended to launch himself, in his aircraft, from the deck of the ship. He would never be far from rescue but his aircraft, like all other aircraft of the day, was designed for land use only. To be doubly safe he visited a Key West tinsmith and had boat-shaped pontoons fashioned and attached to the end of each wing.
Everything was now ready, except for one thing – the weather. The wind blew at a near gale force for seven days. Excitement was running at a fever pitch but so was the grumbling. No one in Key West or Cuba had even seen an airplane before. They could not understand what was causing the delay. The onlookers did not appreciate the danger that Douglas was facing, or how critical it was for him to have good weather. In Cuba, the crowds began to doubt the young Canadian was coming at all.
Around midnight on the seventh day word came that the wind was finally letting up. The decision was made to take off at dawn. But moments before the flight was to begin, a message came from the Pauling. The wind had started up again over Cuba. The flight was called off and the grumbling increased.
On January 28, 1911, Cuban meteorologists announced that the cyclone sweeping the straits between Havana and Key West would soon end but would be followed by a second one. In between the two storms, there would be a space of 24 hours where the sky would be calm when an attempt could be made. At 2 a.m. on January 30, the destroyers sailed to their stations. By dawn, the sea was quiet; the wind had ceased to blow and everything looked good.
Douglas was preparing his airplane in a small field, the size of a baseball diamond, in Key West. At 7:02 a.m. Douglas, ever careful, took off on what was intended to be a test flight. On the ground there was instant pandemonium. A special detachment of 30 police officers was unable to control the crowds. Nearly the entire population of Key West was pressing forward to witness Douglas’s takeoff. He made two circles over the cheering crowd and headed toward Cuba. He had no other choice. People had swarmed all over the field, making a landing impossible in Key West. In Havana, a cannon from the heights the of 16th-century Morro Castle boomed out a signal that the flight was on. Thousands of Cubans gathered at the waterfront.
Douglas flew over the water at an altitude of nearly 1,000 meters. The weather was ideal. The sun glinting off the waves was dazzling and smoke from the destroyers’ funnels appeared as tiny black smudges on a canvas of intense blue. As he passed each of the destroyers he could see the sailors waving and cheering.
The flight passed without incident until Douglas was within sight of Havana. The only sound was the steady drone of the engine. Suddenly, there was an explosion only centimetres behind him. The engine coughed and began to leaking oil. Desperately, he tried to coax the engine back to health, but to no avail. He was losing altitude rapidly. At 250 meters the engine stopped altogether. A connecting rod had broken through the wall of one of the cylinders and was rapidly tearing the engine apart. Douglas could do nothing but glide downward and make a landing in the sea.
The captain of the Pauling had been notified that Douglas had passed over the Terry and was in difficulty. All eyes searched the heavens. A seaman shouted, “There he is!” A spontaneous cry went up from the crew but it died on their lips.
“My God! He’s falling!”
The Pauling headed toward Douglas, steaming at the top speed of 20 knots. The Terry approached from the other direction. Both vessels reached the plane at about the same time. The landing, with the aid of his homemade pontoons, was so smooth that Douglas did not even get his feet wet.
In Key West, crowds had gathered around the wireless station waiting for the news. There were groans when the word came through of Douglas’s forced landing, but cheers when it was announced that both pilot and aircraft were in good shape. He had landed only 2 kilometres from Havana harbour. The Pauling picked him up in just four and one-half minutes.
“That was tough luck!” was Douglas’s only comment, “Why, I could see Havana!”
The airplane was not seriously damaged by the landing but was destroyed when hoisted aboard the Terry. The sailors wanted to get the job done quickly because three tiger sharks had been seen swimming around the plane.
As he sailed aboard the Pauling into Havana harbour, Douglas was surprised to discover that the Cubans considered him a hero. President Gomez came out to meet him and welcome him to Cuba. The President sailed aboard the Hatuey, flagship of the Cuban navy.
The moment he stepped on shore Douglas made his way through crowds of well-wishers to the flying field he had picked out for himself on the outskirts of the city. Climbing into his second aircraft, he put on the first barnstorming show the people of Cuba had ever seen. President Gomez was so impressed by the demonstration of “battleship bombing” that he immediately announced the formation of a school of military aviation.
Douglas was invited to be guest of honour at a state banquet. There the government of Cuba would present him with a cheque for $10,000. The Havana Post and the city of Havana promised to present him with their cheques as well. In all, Douglas was to receive $18,000.
The cheques from the newspaper and the city never arrived. The state dinner did take place, however. It was held amid the opulence of an opera house. President Gomez made a magnificent speech in Spanish; there were bands, crowds and distinguished people from every part of Cuba and diplomats from all over the world. More than seven thousand invited guests gave Douglas a standing ovation. At the climax of the evening, Douglas was presented with an elaborate envelope covered with ribbons, red and green seals, and embossed with the insignia of the President of the Republic of Cuba. It contained his $10,000 cheque. Douglas was then prevailed upon to make a speech, with the vice president of Cuba acting as translator.
When Douglas returned to his hotel suite he opened the envelope. It contained nothing but pieces of torn newspaper; he never received his $10,000.
For a month, Douglas remained in Cuba, travelling over the island putting on air shows. Everywhere fans mobbed him. At one stop he met a wealthy cigar manufacturer who paid him $1,000 for a single flight, as well as giving him a stack of cigars one metre high.
When his stay in Cuba came to an end, Douglas, who had had enough heroics for a while, decided to return to Key West by boat. He was attending a farewell party at a private seaside club when he was startled to see his boat pulling away without him. Borrowing his host’s speedboat, Douglas tossed his luggage in the boat then chased the departing vessel. Unfortunately, the captain of the ship was not about to stop for any late arrivals. Near the stern were some open portholes where the ship took on coal. Douglas manoeuvred the speedboat in close and heaved his suitcases through the openings. Manoeuvring closer still, he swung himself through a porthole and landed in a heap of coal. At the time, he was dressed in a white tropical suit. When Douglas McCurdy, the hero of Cuba, returned to Key West, he was covered from head to toe in coal dust and treated like a common stowaway. Regular flights to Havana were not made until seventeen years later when Charles Lindbergh started an air mail service.
Chapter 8
McCurdy and the First World War
During the remaining years before the outbreak of the First World War, in 1914, Douglas continued to campaign for the establishment of a military flying corps in Canada. He made frequent trips to Ottawa, held meetings with cabinet ministers and gave speeches, cal
ling for the formation of a squadron of twelve airplanes for the militia. Douglas was unable to make any progress. Colonel Hughes of the militia remarked that aviation had no value in war and that he did not propose to spend the government’s money on such a ridiculous scheme.
Nonetheless, in spring of 1915, with the war in Europe raging, the Curtiss Aeroplane and Motor Company came into being. Glenn Curtiss was president of the American branch of the company and Douglas headed the Canadian branch. The purpose of the company was to manufacture the Curtiss JN-4 or Jenny. The Jenny became the standard training aircraft of Canada, Britain and the United States. Altogether, Douglas’s factory in Toronto produced 600 machines during the war. That was nearly one-quarter of Canada’s aircraft production. Douglas also turned out the first twin-engine airplane in the world, a bomber produced for the Royal Navy.
When war was declared, Canada, as part of the British Empire, was involved automatically. The United Stated remained officially neutral until 1917, although its sympathies were with Britain and Canada. As part of her neutrality, the United States refused to export weapons of war to either side. The question was asked: what is an airplane? Was it a weapon of war? Surely, an airplane without ailerons could not be considered a weapon of war. To get around the U.S. neutrality policy, Glenn Curtiss turned out hundreds of aircraft at a plant in Buffalo, New York, and then shipped them to Britain through Canada. Douglas’s factory in Toronto obligingly supplied the missing ailerons.
In February 1915, the British War Office asked the Canadian authorities for the right to recruit Canadians for the Royal Naval Air Service and the Royal Flying Corps. The Canadian government duly considered the request. Grudgingly, permission was given. An order that had made it illegal to fly an airplane within 32 kilometres of a Canadian city was set aside.
The British could recruit in Canada but there was still no flying school. To Douglas, it was obvious that he would have to act on his own. The Curtiss Flying School was founded on April 30, 1915, with Douglas as director. A seaplane base for the Royal Naval Air Service was established at Hanlan’s Point on Toronto Island. An airstrip for the Royal Flying Corps was built at nearby Long Branch.
The government in Ottawa insisted that the schools be operated on a commercial basis. The students actually had to pay $400 out of their own pockets to cover the cost of instruction. This must have been one of the few times that a man had to pay for the privilege of fighting for his country. If the student completed the course satisfactorily, the British would reimburse him some of the cost, give him a uniform allowance and a pre-paid second-class ticket to England where he could enlist in the British services.
The students at Douglas’s school started their day at 5:00 a.m. when the winds were calmest. Each student waited his turn to receive ten minutes of flight instruction at a time. In all, Douglas’s students were supposed to receive 400 minutes of instructions, but this often proved impossible. In order to be acceptable for one of the British services, pilots had to be able to fly 5 kilometres, reach an altitude of 100 metres and glide to a safe landing with his engine switched off. It took between three and six weeks for Douglas’s students to reach this level. The instruction was rough-and-ready but the British were very pleased with the qualities of the graduates.
Douglas’s plea for the formation of a Canadian Flying Corps still received little response. It would not be until 1922 that the Canadian Air Force was finally established, a force that he had been calling for since 1909. In 1924 it became the Royal Canadian Air Force.
Up until the spring of 1917, when the two British services were merged into the Royal Air Force, more than 600 pilots were trained at Douglas’s school. Among them were W. A. Curtis, Robert Leckie and Raymond Collishaw, all of whom became aces in the sky over France and later air marshals in the RCAF. Another McCurdy student was Henry Arnold who became a general in the United States Army Air Force.
His job done, Douglas turned his school over to the Royal Air Force and devoted his full attention to manufacturing aircraft.
It was about this time that Douglas had to give up active flying. His vision had begun to fail and he was alarmed to discover that he could no longer make the accurate judgements required for safe take off and landing.
Throughout the 1920s and the 1930s, Douglas acted as a president of several companies that designed and manufactured commercial aircraft. It was no exaggeration to say he was the father of the aircraft industry in Canada, as much as he was of the Royal Canadian Air Force.
Chapter 9
The Silver Dart Flies Again
In 1929 Curtiss Aeroplane and Motor Limited merged with another firm to become the Curtiss-Reid Aircraft Company. The new company had a factory near Montreal; Douglas served as president. Under his direction the company produced a fast manoeuvrable trainer called the Rambler and a prototype mail plane, the Courier.
Douglas was now recognized worldwide for his aviation work. He was considered to be one of the world’s greatest aircraft authorities. In 1932, when Japan invaded the Chinese province of Manchuria, it was Douglas to whom the Chinese turned for assistance. The plan eventually came to naught but for a time he proposed to organize and train a corps of Canadian pilots to fight on China’s behalf.
At about the same time he made a tour of Western Europe to study the problem of vibration and metal fatigue. Everywhere his reputation preceded him and he received red-carpet treatment. This was especially the case in Germany.
During the 1930s Germany had become the world leader in aviation research. Douglas was keen to tour the huge aircraft works at Bremen and Augsberg, as well as the Zeppelin plant on the shores of Lake Constance. The Germans were only too pleased to receive the Canadian visitor they had heard so much about.
Despite his many accomplishments, Douglas was a modest man and was astonished by the preparations that had been made for him. Everywhere he wished to go a chauffeured limousine or a private railcar whisked him about. In Bremen, his hotel suite came complete with a grand piano and when he visited a nightclub, the band played “The Maple Leaf Forever” as he walked in. Later, at a dinner in England, Douglas was introduced to the greatest German aircraft designer, Willy Messerschmitt. When the Second World War broke out in 1939, Canadians were to face deadly fighter planes designed by the same Willy Messerschmitt.
Douglas spent the war with the Department of Munitions and Supplies as both the Assistant Director General of Aircraft Production and Director of Purchasing. Though confined to a desk, his role was invaluable. Without his tireless efforts, the Royal Canadian Air Force and the air forces of Canada’s allies could not have been supplied with the weapons they needed to defeat the Nazi threat.
In tribute to his outstanding war service, Douglas was made a member of the Order of the British Empire.
In 1947, he was surprised to discover that he had been appointed to the post of lieutenant-governor of Nova Scotia. Upon receipt of this news, his only comment was that he would promise to fulfill his duties as well as “a country boy from Cape Breton could.” McCurdy adopted an open and informal style. For the next five years, until his retirement from public life, this simple country boy was the official head of the Nova Scotia Government and representative of the Crown. He opened the provincial legislature and met the great from all over Canada and the world.
After his retirement the honours continued. Undoubtedly his greatest honour occurred on February 23, 1959 – the golden anniversary of his flight in 1909. On that day a re-enactment of the flight of the Silver Dart was televised for Canadians from coast to coast. Three RCAF airmen had constructed an exact replica of Douglas’ airplane, the Silver Dart II, on their own time.
Just as it had a half-century before, a strong wind swept across the ice-covered surface of the Bras d’Or Lake. Following a thundering flypast by the modern jet aircraft of the RCAF, the Silver Dart II, with Wing Commander Paul Hartman at the controls, taxied across the ice and became a
irborne. With a twinkle in his eye, Douglas said that he might just take her up himself.
Douglas was awarded the Trans-Canada McKee Trophy in recognition of fifty years of outstanding service to Canadian aviation and was made an honorary wing commander of the RCAF. His achievements were further commemorated when the post office issued a stamp depicting the Silver Dart in flight.
Just two years later, on June 25, 1961, John Alexander Douglas McCurdy died in Montreal at the age of seventy-four. At the time of his death he was the oldest licensed pilot in the world. The McCurdy Award, the most prestigious honour given by the Canadian Aeronautics and Space Institute, had been named in his honour. In 1973, the name of J. A. D. McCurdy was inscribed in Canada’s Aviation Hall of Fame. In July 2009, the airport near Sydney, Nova Scotia, was renamed the J. A. Douglas McCurdy airport in tribute to Cape Breton’s aviation pioneer.
Notes
Notes to Chapter 1
J. A. D. McCurdy, “The Early Days of Aviation,” Dalhousie Review (July 1948): 109.
H. Gordon Green, The Silver Dart (Fredericton, NB: Brunswick Press, 1959), 8.
Notes to Chapter 2
Alice Sutherland, Canada’s Aviation Pioneers (Toronto: McGraw-Hill Ryerson, 1978), 254.
Norman Chamberlin, “They Flew in 1909,” Canadian Aviation (January 1945): 44.
Notes to Chapter 3
J. A. D. McCurdy, “Early Days,” 111.
Green, Silver Dart, 98.
Notes to Chapter 5
Green, Silver Dart, 98.
Chamberlin, “They Flew in 1909,” 47.