Word: planed
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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Over the Delaware River one afternoon last week a plane, sweeping for a landing, sideslipped, twirled awkwardly down to death. From the aerodrome on the bank a boat put out, men floundered into the water/ worked desperately to extricate the officer and mechanic in the cockpit. The latter, one Samuel Schultz, was easy to lift out, but the plunging engine had jammed the officer's leg, crushed in his chest. "Easy, boys," he said over and over in a dry, thin voice. Two hours later, in the Naval Hospital, he died-Commander John Rodgers, U.S.N...
Almost exactly a yearago (TiME, Sept. 14, 21, 1925), another plane, the PN-9, NO. 1, fell with Commander Rodgers into the Pacific Ocean. San Francisco was 1,700 miles behind; the Hawaiian Islands 400 miles ahead. He and his men had no food, no fuel. They ripped the fabric off the wings and caught a little rainwater in it. Commander Rodgers, with a "silly little still" his mother had made him take along, distilled more drink from seawater. After a week, a submarine found the plane and its scarecrow crew...
...demanded, viewing with suspicion the brown terrain, the fog-filled, dingy air. "Half a mile from London, sir," replied the pilot courteously. Upon this information, the goggled person, a passenger recently embarked at Brussels, began a series of unpleasant antics, striking his fist against the side of the plane, cursing in a sodden voice, and stamping on the ground. He had wanted, it appeared, to go to Paris. At the Brussels Aerodrome, four planes had been leaving simultaneously for London, Brussels, Cologne, and Paris. He had simply gotten the wrong one. Becoming calmer, he exhibited a ticket-"Brussels to Paris...
Last week, near El Segundo, Cal., the very latest wrinkle in descent was demonstrated-a wrinkle that promised to eliminate a tremendous percentage of the danger-and fear-of aviation. Pilot R. Carl Oelze of the Naval Reserve had the temerity to ascend in his plane to 2,500 ft., jerk the strings of a monster parachute folded in the fuselage behind the cockpit, shut off his motor and let the plane plunge toward the ground like a plummet. Anxious watchers saw a white mushroom suddenly billow above the dropping craft. With a jerk, the plane's fall...
...metal entries to finish. Flying one of these, Pilot R. W. Schroeder had the misfortune to chip a propeller, resulting in terrific vibration in that motor. Over Nova, Ohio, the motor tore loose from its mounting, threw a piece of debris into another propeller, smashing it and leaving the plane with only one propeller to land by. It was an unforseeable accident, due not so much to mechanical deficiency as to ill luck. Aeronauts mourned that the most widely advertised of commercial ships should thus come to grief and shake public confidence in the very event most calculated to promote...