A large crowd gathered in Grant Park to watch the Wingfoot Express prepare for its third flight of the day. |
A
few weeks back I was surprised to learn of an air disaster in Chicago back in the summer of 1919 from
a post in a favorite Facebook group,
the wildly eclectic Chicago Bughouse (Washington) Square. I was quite astonished because I fancy myself
quite knowledgeable about Chicago history, but this event had somehow eluded
me. After all other horrific disasters
of the early 20th Century like the Iroquois Theater Fire of 1903 and the Eastland
capsize in the Chicago River in 1915 are not only well documented, they have
become iconic in the city’s history.
Of
course fewer people died when the flaming Wingfoot Express crashed through the
skylight of the Illinois Trust &
Savings Bank at in the Loop at LaSalle Street and Jackson Boulevard. Only 17
were killed and 27 injured compared to more than 800 drowned on the Eastland.
But you would think for shear drama, nothing could beat an air ship disaster on the cusp of rush hour on a summer afternoon in one
of the busiest cities in America.
Despite
the great advances in airplane technology
during The Great War, fixed wing
powered aircraft were still too limited in lifting capacity and operational
range to be considered viable for commercial use. As it had done since the days of Jules Verne, the world still looked at lighter-than-air craft as the future of
commercial aviation. The Germans under the skillful hand of Count Ferdinand von Zeppelin led the world in the development of dirigibles, which had famously bombed London in the War. The British, French, and Italians
were all scrambling to catch up, mostly using German Zeppelins surrendered as war reparations as models.
The
United States was lagging far
behind. The Navy, which had operated blimps
for anti-submarine patrol, had
the most experience and was preparing to go into the dirigible business using
one of those German aircraft. In 1917
the Navy had contracted with Goodyear
Tire and Rubber to design and construct its Blimp fleet mostly because the
company had developed a rubberized fabric
ideal for the construction of the aircrafts gas bag.
Now
in the post war, Goodyear was eager to find a commercial use for its
technology. And Chicago business tycoons
were just as eager to secure the city’s place as the nation’s transportation
hub by making it the center for air ship packet
and mail service. By early 1919 local investors had agreed to
bankroll a demonstration aircraft with the hope that it would lead to regular
inter-city service.
Goodyear
was ambitious. It recognized the
fragility of its blimps, essentially just streamlined balloons with engines and
a passenger compartment slung underneath, meaning that any rupture to the skin
of the bag would lead to the crash of the aircraft. It decided to jump to the construction of a
small dirigible.
A
dirigible has a rigid frame holding tanks of buoyant gas inside the envelope.
Theoretically this would be safer as a puncture might only affect one
tank allowing the aircraft to stay aloft or descend safely, and dirigible could
be built much larger and therefore have greater lift capacity.
But
there were some major problems. First
was that Goodyear engineers had no experience with dirigibles. Second was that the contract called for
construction and delivery to Chicago in just months. Finally, despite the availability of non-flammable helium in the U.S. they
decided to go with cheaper and more widely available hydrogen as the lift gas.
Unfortunately hydrogen is explosively flammable.
Goodyear
also decided to experiment with new, more powerful rotary engines with which it
was unfamiliar. In the rush to complete
construction the two engines were slung below the airframe without being tested—or
balanced. As events would show they were
also slung too close to the envelope.
Still,
everyone was excited when the Wingfoot
Express, named for Goodyear’s Mercury
foot logo, was built in a hanger
at the White City Amusement Park on
the grounds of the old Columbian Exposition
on the city’s South Side.
Heavily promoted in the press, especially in the Chicago Tribune, crowds
flocked to the park to get a glimpse at the ship. The plan was to demonstrate its airworthiness
by using it on short excursions between White City the downtown Grant Park.
The
Wingfoot Express successfully made
two test flights the morning of Monday, July 22 on a route that took the
aircraft safely over Lake Michigan. The lead engineer observed the twin engines throwing off sparks and hot
oil that splattered on the envelope.
Moreover the unbalanced engines made the ship hard to control.
Despite
these observations, plans went ahead for a third trip a later that
afternoon.
The
ship was smaller than those Goodyear envisioned for packet service—the envelope
180 feet long and thirty feet in diameter.
On board was a full 200 gallon tank of gasoline, enough fuel for days of excursion flights.
It
was a hot but near picture perfect late afternoon on when the Wingfoot Express took off from Grant
Park for her third trip. This time it
was a virtual press junket. On board
were pilot Jack Boettner, mechanics Henry Wacker and Carl “Buck” Weaver, White City press agent and well known former
sportswriter Earl Davenport, and Tribune photographer William G. Norton.
After
they were airborne, Norton asked Captain Boettner to deviate from his flight
plan and fly over the Loop so he could take pictures. Despite the fact that he was operating an
experimental air craft with less than two hours flight time and that he was
just as new as the airship having never before that day operated a ship with
the rotary engines, Boettner likely at the urging of Davenport, agreed. It was a fatal mistake.
When
the Wingfoot Express appeared over
the Loop shortly before 5 pm flying at a relatively low 1300 feet, it naturally
attracted a lot of attention. People had
never seen anything like it. Pedestrians
on the ground craned their necks. Denizens
of downtown buildings leaned far out of their open office windows to catch a
glimpse. Others climbed out on fire
escapes or made their way to roof tops.
So there was an astonishing number of eye witnesses to all or part of
what happened next.
In
the most frequently quoted eyewitness account, Irwin A. Phillips later
testified that “I saw a little black spot above the equator line on the bag,
and then a yellow flame broke out. Then the flame spread up and down and on
both sides. I saw the men jump and I saw the bag fall. When it passed from my
view the rear end of the bag was (still) inflated.”
This
testimony brings up an interesting point.
Various sources writing about the disaster refer to the ship as a blimp—a
powered balloon—or as a dirigible. The
non-technical public used the terms interchangeably, although blimp was more
familiar to American ears. Phillips’
testimony which refers to a “gas bag” clearly indicates he thought it was a
blimp even as he noted it did not lose its shape as it sank.
The
confusion persists. One writer tries to
split the difference and calls the ship a “non-rigid blimp” containing
individual gas cells like a dirigible.
But a blimp could not have maintained its shape without the internal
pressure of the lifting gas. The Wingfoot Express had to have had a rigid
frame to support the envelope. Which is
why Phillips noted that it had maintained its shape.
When
they passengers and crew first noticed the fire, there was obvious panic on
board. There was a scramble for the
parachutes, which would not have been worn but stowed for quick retrieval. One by one the men scrambled to put one on
and jump.
Captain
Boettner was the first man out, for which he was heavily criticized by those
who held with the romantic notion that the captain should go down with the
ship. Maybe not a hero, but smart. He cleared of the wreckage and landed
safely. The chief mechanic also got out
with minor injuries. The other mechanic’s
parachute snagged on the ship and he was dragged down to his death under the
wreckage. Photographer Norton jumps
clinging to his heavy camera and equipment, and exposed glass plates—a bad
mistake. He landed hard breaking both
legs and incurring massive internal injuries.
His photographic equipment was destroyed. He died days later asking if his precious
photographs had survived. Weaver, the
press agent, never got out of the gondola.
The
ship was fully engulfed in flames in seconds, the fire only intensified when it
reached all of that gasoline. As the
envelope disintegrated, the gondola, engines and gas tank became detached and
fell—right into the glass skylight
of the Illinois Trust & Savings Bank.
It
was 4:56 pm. Banking operations for
customers had ended at the then customary 3 pm and employees finishing up the
days business were just getting ready to leave.
Caught directly under the skylight were the mostly women clerks on the
top floor. Many died instantly, crushed
by the heavy equipment and in the raining fire.
The heavy engines and the gas tank plummeted to the ground floor where
the gas tanks burst, spreading the fire.
The heat was so intense that the class and frame of the skylight melted
adding their molten destructive heat to the inferno.
On
the first floor many found some protection under the heavy marble teller
counters, but others were trapped there.
Those who could scrambled for exits or even jumped out windows.
Survivors recounted scenes of unspeakable horror.
The
fire department responded quickly but there was little that they could do but
let the fuel burn itself out and attempt sometimes heroic rescue attempts. But the core of the smoking rubble was too intensely
hot to enter for hours. The final toll
on the ground either killed immediately or dying of wounds was 10 bank
employees, mostly women but including ten year old and 14 year old boy
messengers. 27 others were injured badly
enough to require hospitalization, scores more burned, bruised or
battered. The total death toll including
one crewman and the two passengers on the ship was 13, an unlucky number.
The
public was both aghast and fascinated by the accident, snapping up each new
updated extra edition of the newspapers as they hit the streets. It was a newsboy’s once in a lifetime opportunity. Meanwhile various players swung into action.
With
the fire still smoldering bank officials tapped the huge reservoir of “the
reserve army of the unemployed” hiring hungry men off the streets to enter the
building to salvage anything they could.
They were working side by side Firemen
and police digging for the
bodies of victims through the night.
By
morning the Bank had secured near-by space and using equipment salvaged from
their building and borrowed from other banks, opened for business on time on
Tuesday morning. Employees not dead or
still hospitalized were required to report for work, which many of the still
bandaged and traumatized did.
Missing
was flamboyant Republican Mayor William
Hale “Big Bill” Thompson and a gaggle of Chicago movers and shakers were
off playing cowboy at a Western dude ranch and declined to break up the fun to
come home to deal with the disaster. The
City Council, however, swung into
action at a meeting the next day. It
considered an ordinance banning flights over the congested central city, but
after the immediate howls of businessmen still hoping to cash in on future air commerce
elected instead to study regulating such flights. Any regulations developed promptly went into drawer
and were forgotten.
The
States Attorney launched an immediate investigation which included the arrest
of all of the survivors of the crash, including those in their hospital beds
and the dying reporter. After interrogations,
Captain Boettner was put in jail and indicted.
Joining him was Goodyear’s project manager for the construction and
operation of the Wingfoot Express, W.C. Young, was also held and charged.
To
its credit, Goodyear stepped up and accepted responsibility, promising to pay
the medical expenses of all of the injured, as well as the funerals of the
dead. The company, in what modern public relations experts would call “getting
ahead of the story,” publicly instructed its employees to fully cooperate with
authorities and provided without protest all documentation on the design,
construction, and brief flight life of the dirigible. It made no attempt to cover-up the hurried
construction, the use of untried and untested engines, lack of engineering
standards and adequate testing.
For
their part at the trial Boettner admitted that prior to the day of the crash he
had no experience with the aircraft and had trouble controlling the unbalanced engines. Young testified that he was unfamiliar with
the engines he selected, the need to balance their speed and torque, and had
not tested operations for a safe distance from the envelope.
Other
testimony at the trial included hearsay reports from one of the injured crew
that one of the passengers may have been at the controls when the ship caught
fire. Boettner leapt to his feet calling
that charge a “damnable lie.” But the
injured man was never called to testify if the reports of his hospital bed
conversations were accurate.
Several
expert witnesses offered contradictory testimony about possible caused for the
fire that led to the disaster. Which
made it difficult for the prosecutors to prove criminal negligence. One of the most absurd speculations came from
Army Colonel Joseph C. Morrow, the
head of training and operations from the Army’s new lighter-than-air craft
program headquartered at Goodyear’s Ohio facility at Wingfoot Lake. That sounds
more credible than it was, because the Army was far behind the Navy in and had
no operational experience beyond a few Signal
Corpsmen who had gone up in observation balloons. In fact Morrow was being trained for his job
by Goodyear.
He
was the sole passenger on the second flight of the day and testified on what he
had observed of the ships performance. He
seemed unaware of the problems of sparks and hot oil being thrown off the
engines as reported by the chief mechanic from his hospital bed. Col. Marrow speculated that the fire may have
started from sparks generated by the silk gas bladders inside the envelope
rubbing against each other, a virtual impossibility which ignored eyewitness testimony
that the fire seemed to originate on the envelope, not inside of it.
In
the end no firm cause was determined, although modern researchers give heavy
credence to theories involving overheating engines.
The
prosecution was unable to prove criminal charges against the two defendants,
both of whom returned to work for Goodyear.
One
of the more tangible long-term results of the crash was the closing of the air
terminal in Grant Park and the eventual authorization of the Chicago Air Park on the South Side, a comfortable distance from
the center city which opened with a single runway in 1923. That facility would eventually be named Midway Airport.
But
none of this explains why the memory of the crash seemed to fade so
quickly. Perhaps it was because of
another event which erupted just five days later—the deadly Chicago Race Riots of 1919 which raged
until August 3. At least 38 died—most of
them Blacks—and hundreds were
injured in fighting across the South Side that included widespread arson and
looting.
In
all of the excitement and terror, the crash of Wingfoot Express was almost erased from memory.
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