Word: cockpits
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Novel Control. At 10,000 ft. over Carswell Air Force Base near Fort Worth, Test Pilot Richard L. Johnson began the critical maneuver that is the F-111's reason for being. In the instrument-crammed cockpit, he reached for a novel control: a pistol grip that can be moved backward and forward like a trombone slide. He pushed it forward, and the wings responded by folding backward. He moved them first to 26 degrees of sweep, then 43 degrees, at last to 72 degrees. In this highspeed condition, the F-111 looked like a schoolboy's folded...
...Francisco and Los Angeles on Pacific Southwest Airlines last week were startled to hear the pilot announce that a strange object had appeared on the radar screen. After a moment, the pilot added that the object had landed on the wing. Just then Santa Claus burst forth from the cockpit and chortled down the aisle, dispensing good cheer to all. Santa was actually taking part in a fierce dogfight for mastery of the sky on the world's most heavily traveled aerial freeway. More than 1,800,000 passengers flew on the 347-mile corridor between San Francisco...
Without Question. Flight 773 had plunged to earth. At 6:51 a.m., a United Air Lines pilot made his radio report: "There's a black cloud of smoke coming up through the undercast. Looks like oil or gasoline fire." At the scene, investigators found the cockpit had been demolished. But on a bit of tubing from the pilot's seat, they discovered a small, lead-scarred dent caused by a bullet. Said the report: "Measurements place the bullet indentation directly in line of fire between the captain's back and anyone standing in the aisleway between...
Lying prone in a cockpit perched on Monster's side, Art yowled past the timers at 515.98 m.p.h. on his first run, turned around and headed back. Down went the throttle, up climbed the airspeed indicator-to 500, to 550, to 575 m.p.h. At that speed, the seemingly smooth salt flats felt like a washboard, and the 6,500-lb. car bucked and yawed. The needle touched 600 m.p.h., and-pow! The right rear tire disintegrated; Firestone had warned him not to top 550. Arfons popped his braking chutes, fought Monster to a shuddering stop, clambered unsteadily from...
Fate Is the Hunter. Consolidated Airlines' Flight 22 lifts off the runway on a routine hop to Seattle. Pilot Rod Taylor takes a cup of coffee from Stewardess Suzanne Pleshette, trades a quip or two. Suddenly a bell clangs in the cockpit, a light blinks a warning on the control panel. "Engine blew," snaps Taylor. In two-engine-aircraft dramas, troubles never come singly. The tower reports three other planes blocking the path back to the strip. The radio goes dead. And of course Engine No. 2 conks out. Flight 22 crash-lands on a deserted beach, bellies safely...