Soaring Skyward: A History of Aviation in and Around Long Beach, California

By Claudine Burnett

Flying was a perilous adventure, with death only a small breath away. Many lost their lives in pursuit of their dream and have remained relatively forgotten, until now. (italics until now)
Aviation fever struck young and old alike, especially after the four Dominguez Air Meets held in Southern California between 1910-1913. It inspired many such as the Birnie and French brothers, Charles Day, and Glenn Martin to build their own air ships. For others like Frank Champion, Long Beachs first airman, it meant learning from the best---traveling to London, England, to study with Louis Bleriot, and going on to teach others, such as Long Beach Airport founder Earl Daugherty, to fly.
There were also daring women: Tiny and Ethel Broadwick, who parachuted out of airplanes when many men refused to do so because they considered it too dangerous; Gladys ODonnell instrumental in founding the Womens Air Derby; World War II ferrying pilots, led by Barbara Erickson London, whose service to America was not recognized until 1977; Dianna Bixby and Joan Merriam Smith trying to complete Amelia Earharts dream of circumnavigating the globe.
Soaring Skyward (italics for title) introduces remarkable men and women who embraced the dangers and challenges of flight. It also tells the story of the Long Beach Municipal Airport, the center of much of Southern Californias aviation history. The early days of ballooning, air circuses, parachute jumps, barnstorming, air meets, forgotten military sites and much more are all explored in this well documented look into the past, and future, of aviation in Southern California.
After twenty years of extensive research, Ms. Burnetts book is sure to open up new sources of information for aviation and history enthusiasts, and most definitely shed additional light on the past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 4, 2011
• ISBN: 9781467033602

Claudine Burnett

Claudine Burnett is a research librarian/historian who writes about California history. Her credentials include a B. A. in history from the University of California, Irvine; a Master’s in Information Science from the University of California, Los Angeles; and a Master’s in Public Administration from California State University, Long Beach. Her latest book Amador City: a Haunting History brings a Gold Rush era town alive with history, murder, intrigue, and alleged hauntings. For more visit her website: claudineburnettbooks.com

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PARACHUTES & BALLOONS

None of that parachute jumping for us aviators, it’s too dangerous, noted airman Phil Parmalee told the Los Angeles Times on January 24, 1912, after witnessing 85-pound Georgia Tiny Broadwick jump from a balloon during the third Dominguez Air Meet. Famed aviator Glenn Curtiss also told reporters he instructed his students to never jump, even in an accident. Curtiss said it was much safer to stay in the plane.

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WHAT LESLIE HADDOCK WOULD HAVE SEEN AS HIS BALLOON LIFTED OFF FROM THE PIKE IN 1905.

LONG BEACH AVIATION BEGINS ON THE PIKE

On May 18, 1905, aeronaut Leslie Bert Haddock and his wife Josephine looked down from their hot air balloon soaring over Long Beach to enjoy the striking landscape below. The California terrain was much different from that of their home state of Massachusetts. There early settlers had destroyed the forests and wetlands in their search for timber and farm land. Many wildlife species had disappeared. Here, in this still virgin land, things were different. The marshes around Cerritos Slough were teeming with waterfowl. It was a hunter’s paradise. Twenty-six year-old Haddock mentioned to his wife that winter and spring were the perfect times for hunting. His new employer, Colonel Charles Drake, had told him those were the seasons when hoards of birds darkened the sky during their yearly migrations. It was the hunting that had drawn Drake to Long Beach. The Colonel and his family had been coming to Long Beach since the early 1890’s when the sweltering heat of the Arizona desert became unbearable. The Colonel didn’t hunt much anymore. A hunting accident had taken his son’s life in January 1898. It was pure carelessness that caused the accident, Haddock confided to his wife. Young Drake had just emptied both barrels of his rifle at a flock of birds and reached for a loaded gun on the bottom of the boat. He picked it up by the muzzle and the gun went off tearing away the whole upper portion of his skull. Maybe it was the memory of his son, or just the feel of the area, but Drake had told Haddock he believed there was something spiritual about this place once called Willmore City. That was why he decided to retire from the railroad business, settle here permanently, and open an oceanfront amusement park. Drake said he was not the only one who felt this way. Long Beach had an unusual draw to many. It was hard to explain, but the city’s founder, William Willmore, had sensed it; that was why he felt compelled to build on this land close to the ancient Indian village of Puvungna, a holy city, where, according to legend, the world began.

As the Haddocks looked down on Signal Hill, with its vegetable gardens laid out in quilt-like patches by the Japanese gardeners who farmed the area, they had to agree with Drake. There was something special about the land. Off in the distance they could see the acres and acres of sugar beets which were being harvested and taken to the sugar refinery at Los Alamitos. Across the water, the island of Catalina graced the horizon. What a beautiful setting for a city, and what a lovely day to take a practice run and become familiar with wind currents in the area. The test flight had been Colonel Drake’s idea. Drake had hired Haddock, known for his daring parachute jumps from balloons, to be the main attraction at the opening of Drake’s waterfront amusement park in Long Beach. Having Haddock’s balloon pass over the city a few days before the actual performance was a stroke of advertising genius designed to entice the public to see Haddock’s act.

In January 1907, R.W. Clark sued the Los Angeles amusement park known as the Chutes. The park was named Chutes after a popular attraction called Shooting the Chutes in which riders in boats were released from a height of 75 feet, cascading down the chutes, a 300 foot incline, into the lake below. However, it was the other type of chutes, daring parachute jumps, which also brought people to the park. Every Sunday a balloon would go up and regularly come down in Clark’s yard. The final straw was when Clark was in his front yard and a half ton of silk cording and a wicker chair fell on him. He managed to leap to safety, but enough was enough and he sued. However, Los Angeles officials could find no law to cover Clark’s dilemma. Instead they ruled that a balloon was not a criminal and could alight wherever its fancy dictates.

Drake wanted something special to open the tourist season and all the new additions to his seaside entertainment zone that had become known as the Pike. Haddock was that something special. Ever since 1783, when the Montgolfier brothers launched the first unmanned hot-air balloon from a field near Annonay, France, awed spectators gazed skyward, amazed to see this marvel which allowed man to fly. Haddock’s performance was sure to entertain. The mere fact that balloonists and their balloons rarely landed in the same place was the cause for much delight. Balloonists would execute daring stunts as they parachuted from their airships, leaving the balloons to land wherever — in the ocean, farmer’s field or in a family’s front yard. Chasing after the balloons and taking bets as to where the gas bag would land was an added form of entertainment. Without its human cargo there was nothing to keep the balloon in position and the slightest breeze could carry it anywhere. Hundreds, attracted by the unusual spectacle, would follow the balloon wagering where it would touch ground.

The Haddocks had first come to Southern California in 1904 to perform at the Chutes, a Los Angeles amusement park located on Main and Washington, about ten blocks from downtown. Drake had picked up many tips on how to run an amusement park by observing his Los Angeles competition. Most importantly he had learned the need for something new, something daring to attract visitors. Haddock fit the bill.

Drake had started his beachfront enterprise slowly. His first venture had been a bathhouse which opened on July 4, 1902, the same day Henry Huntington’s Pacific Electric Railroad began service to Long Beach. The next year the Colonel put in an electric merry-go-round west of the bathhouse, followed by a roller coaster in 1904. Now Haddock’s performance was to be the kickoff event for the summer season.

There had been many transformations taking place at the Pike. Foremost among the new attractions was a boathouse, which not only housed boats for visitors to rent, but served as a lookout station. Safety, Drake realized, was extremely important. He let the public know that lifeboat crews manned the boathouse’s tower, alert and ready to rescue any who ventured too far out to sea.

Fashion and style were not to be ignored. In the bathhouse, new sateen suits had replaced all of the old style woolen bathing suits used in previous years. The new chic models were red instead of the traditional black. Already there were complaints about the nature of the new suits. Pike officials had handled the public’s concerns by assuring them that everything at the Pike was clean and moral as well as entertaining. After all the Pike was located in Long Beach, a dry town where liquor was outlawed and where religious groups from around the country met annually for picnics and educational gatherings. You could hardly find a city more righteous and moral than Long Beach.

Anticipating a successful summer season, Drake had built a new pavilion on the beach with enough chairs and tables for 1,000 people. Drake was calling it the largest lunching pavilion on the west coast and had asked the National Association of Pie Eaters to dedicate the structure. An aquarium, similar to the one at Avalon, was also getting ready to open. The two-story brick building was 30 x 126 feet, larger than the one on Catalina Island. When finished it would house a vast number of glass tanks containing nearly everything from a minnow to a whale, and specimens of every type of fish found in local waters.

Drake quickly learned that marketing was of paramount importance to ensure success. Having Haddock’s balloon pass over the city a few days before Haddock’s actual performance was a stroke of advertising genius. There had been many frantic telephone calls from the public to the local newspaper. Where had the balloon come from? Why was it flying over Long Beach? All of this only added to the excitement of what was to come.

On May 20, 1905, thousands gathered on the beach to attend the opening of the Pike and see Leslie Haddock demonstrate his skills as an aeronaut. But they were disappointed — a broken wagon caused Haddock and his equipment to arrive too late. Instead, the much anticipated demonstration was held the following morning.

Up early, Haddock readied for the performance. To make up for his delayed presentation, he walked among the crowd, with a parachute strapped around him, telling them of the daring feat they would soon witness. At 10 a.m. Haddock, with the throng cheering, stepped into his craft. It started to ascend. When the hot air balloon got to about 500 feet he climbed to the railing, waited until he was sure his fans below were watching, then he jumped. He fumbled with the chute as the anxious public gasped in fear as they witnessed the balloonist fall a couple of hundred feet before his parachute finally opened and he settled gracefully into a backyard. Haddock hobbled from the yard with a sprained leg, but decided to make another trip into the air the same afternoon — fortunately his balloon had landed nearby. After all, he had the public to please. He had already let them, and Drake, down by not performing the previous day. He wanted to make up for the disappointment he had caused so many. But bad luck followed.

During the second ascension things quickly went from bad to worse. One hundred feet off the ground the balloon started to deflate. Realizing he was in trouble, Haddock jumped. It seemed the chute would never unwrap when, in answer to prayers from onlookers below, the parachute opened barely forty feet above ground. Haddock landed safely a few feet from where he started, the balloon close by. The crowd went wild. Though things had not gone as planned, what had happened was exciting. It was this threat of danger, of death, that Drake knew would draw visitors to his Pike.

Haddock continued his balloon adventures and close encounters with death. In July 1908, at a Chicago air race, Haddock’s basket became entangled in electric wires shortly after liftoff. The crowd on the ground feared he had been seriously shocked. But he was all right. To prove his point, he stood up in the basket and waved his hand to the cheering throng below. But his luck ran out on July 4, 1918, in Norwood, Massachusetts. He had planned to jump from a trapeze strapped below the balloon and parachute back to Earth, but he fell from the balloon prematurely and his parachute did not have time to open. He died on impact.

Ballooning was all the rage around the turn of the 20th century. On September 30, 1906, 250,000 spectators gathering at the Jardin des Tuleries launch-field in Paris, France, to witness the world’s first international balloon race. Sixteen balloons participated in what was called the Gordon-Bennett balloon race, in honor of New York Herald publisher James Gordon-Bennett who financed the event. It was an exciting competition. Only seven of the craft which left Paris landed safely in England. The others had trouble flying over the sea, ending up in Normandy. American Army Lieutenant Frank P. Lahm in his coal-gas balloon, the United States, was declared the victor after traveling 647.1 km (402 miles) in 22 hours and 15 minutes. With Lahm’s win, America’s national pride soared and the popularity of ballooning skyrocketed throughout the United States.

James Gordon-Bennett (1841-1918), who also financed Henry Stanley’s expedition into Africa to find David Livingston, was fond of sports, especially of yachting. Wanting to encourage sporting events, he established the James Gordon-Bennett cup as a trophy in yachting and similar cups for balloon and airplane races. His balloon race was destined to become the world’s oldest air race.

Rules for the Gordon-Bennett specified that the winning country would host the event the following year. Since the race had to be held in the United States, many Americans took to the sport hoping to become good enough to qualify for the race. St. Louis, Missouri, was chosen as the race launch city since it was centered far from the treacherous sea, and it was felt competitors would be able to safely cover much more distance than the year before. Frank Lahm qualified, but had to withdraw because of health problems. He was replaced by Major Henry B. Hersey from the weather-office of the Army, who had been Lahm’s co-pilot in the 1906 race. Though special exemptions from customs were made for the European entries, only balloonists from four nations could afford to attend the event.

On October 21, 1907, nine balloons took off from Forest Park in St. Louis — 3 Americans, 2 French, 1 English and 3 Germans. In order to keep track of the balloons, the New York Herald gave telegrams to the competitors asking them to drop them from strategic points. This way the Herald could announce who was in the lead, as well as give insight into what was going on in the balloons themselves. Oscar Erbslöh won the race with Henry Helm Clayton, an American, as co-pilot. The pair traveled 1,403.55 km. (872 miles) in 40 hours, landing on the coast of New Jersey.

Southern California was immediately seized by the ballooning craze sweeping the nation. In 1908 Los Angeles promoter Dick Ferris purchased Lahm’s air ship the United States and arranged for the American, which placed second in the St. Louis competition, to compete in the first balloon race ever held west of the Rocky Mountains. On November 15, 1908, forty thousand spectators filled Chutes Park, the launch site, and choked adjacent streets, to watch the two balloons, piloted by A.E. Mueller and Horace B. Wild, leave Los Angeles.

Ferris was confident the airships would travel more than 1,126 miles eastward, establishing a world’s record for a journey in the air. Both pilots had competed in the St. Louis competition and were experienced enough to deal with hydrogen gas (six times more buoyant than illuminating gas used in other races) needed to take them over high mountain ranges. But Ferris was wrong and Charles Drake and Long Beach got an unexpected surprise — a visit from the American.

The race did not go well from the start. Because of problems with air inflation, the United States remained on the ground while the American ascended majestically amid cheers from the crowd. But instead of heading east, the airship sailed west towards Long Beach. Despite all the media hype, planning, and the use of expensive hydrogen gas, one component for a successful flight was missing: proper wind direction. Try as he might, Captain Mueller could not find air currents to take the American east.

Hoards of onlookers followed the craft to the Long Beach Pike where the balloon disappeared over the ocean. Many feared a tragic ending, but the American landed shortly before daylight near Hermosa Beach, far from its destination, New York State.

Eighteen huge balloons representing nine foreign countries and the United States were launched from the Queen Mary parking lot on May 26, 1979, the first running of the International Gordon-Bennett Balloon Race in 41 years. Maxie Anderson and Ben Abruzzo, in Double Eagle III, won the race on May 29 after having traveled 560 miles in 57 hours and 7 minutes.

This was the kind excitement Drake was looking for at his Long Beach Pike. Local lads, Harry Wright and Eugene Savage, promised to provide it.

The Hotel Virginia was another endeavor of Col. Charles Rivers Drake. The $500,000 structure located at the foot of Magnolia Avenue in Long Beach had a stunning view of the ocean. It was five stories tall topped with a roof garden with a stage, alcoves and tropical plants. The first floor contained offices, a dining room, grand reception hall and billiard parlor. The floors above were for guest rooms and suites, each with its own private bath. Located next to the Long Beach’s Pike amusement zone, the enterprising Drake saw a tourist draw in allowing aviators to use the basement for building airplanes. After all, what other hotel, luxury or otherwise, had these new fangled air ships being created on site?

Like the world of aviation, the building of Drake’s hotel was not without tragedy. During construction in November 1906, one hundred and forty artisans and laborers were working in various parts of the structure when, without warning, the sixth and fifth floors tore loose from the west wing. Ten workmen died and 10 were seriously injured. The coroner’s jury found no criminal liability and said the collapse was due to taking away supports before the concrete was properly set. Work resumed a short time later and in 1907 the name of the hotel was quietly changed from the Hotel Bixby to the Hotel Virginia.

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EUGENE SAVAGE LIFTS OFF FROM THE PIKE TO THE AMAZEMENT OF ONLOOKERS ON THE PINE AVENUE PIER. 1910.

HARRY WRIGHT AND

EUGENE SAVAGE

Harry Wright had been enthralled by the novelty and excitement of ballooning since he was a boy growing up in Michigan. In 1908 he approached Charles Drake, asking for a job. Wright was tired of working in a foundry; he wanted to be in the air full time. He believed his qualifications were impressive enough to convince the owner of the Pike to hire him. Wright had been at the sport quite a while. Since he taken up ballooning as a hobby in 1895 he had made over 2,000 flights. He was now designing his own balloons and had recently performed from his latest 80 foot model in Ontario, California. Everyone had been impressed. He hoped Colonel Drake would be too.

Perhaps it was the young man’s determination and enthusiasm, or perhaps the low salary he was requesting, but Drake agreed. On September 1, 1908, Harry Wright took to the air above Long Beach, clinging to a trapeze suspended beneath a hot-air balloon. As 4,000 people watched the daring balloonist shot to 2,000 feet before his balloon started to drift toward the sea. An entranced audience watched Wright jump from the craft and parachute to the ground, striking the roof of a house and knocking off a small cupola. Trying to save himself he caught the guide wire on the parachute, cutting the third finger on his left hand to the bone. He also severely sprained his left ankle and bruised his right leg. He needed to perfect his landing.

By December 1908, Wright was making two ascensions daily at the Long Beach Pike. Frequently the performances ended with an injury, and it was not uncommon to see Wright in crutches approach his balloon for yet another go. Wright’s wife, Nellie, was always with him, a worried look etched upon her face. To make sure no one tampered with the ropes of his parachute, she sat on the box containing the mechanism which would save her husband’s life. Even though Harry told her it wasn’t necessary, no one would purposely sabotage his gear, taking care of the parachute helped ease her fears. It was just her way of making sure she was doing everything she could do to bring her husband back alive.

But his wife’s vigilance could not deal with the wind. On December 20, 1908, things took a turn for the worse. Wright’s parachute got caught in a strong gust of air and Harry lost control. The parachute was swept into an electric wire and, in order to avoid being electrocuted, Wright cut his ties to the chute and fell twenty-five feet to the ground. A severely injured Wright told the Daily Telegram:

"I may be crippled somewhat, but I will have strength in my arms to hang to the trapeze. I never was caught in such a wind before as that which got the best of me yesterday, and it probably will not happen again for years." 1

But Wright was not physically able to meet his January 3, 1909, commitment to perform. Instead, his friend Eugene Savage stood in for him. It was Gene’s first balloon ascension. Savage described his experience:

"My knees quaked and my heart was away up in my throat before I started, but when I got up in the air I felt like whooping for joy. It was great."2

On Savage’s first flight he donned a parachute, jumping from the craft to the thrill of 7,000 spectators. Unfortunately the sand bag, which was supposed to trigger the air ship to land when the balloonist cut loose, did not work. The balloon ended up sinking in the ocean. This was terrible news for Harry Wright, who owned the hot air balloon. Wright’s injury confined him to home and he was unable to earn a living. Family finances were low and there was no way he could afford $250 for another balloon. However, the generous citizens of Long Beach came to Wright’s rescue. Local merchants advanced him money to construct a new balloon. In exchange Wright arranged to make five free ascents. This was agreeable to area businessmen who felt the crowd coming to see the balloon performance would bring in enough cash to the local coffers to offset the cost of the bag.

Despite losing his friend’s balloon on his first flight, Eugene Savage was now hooked. He loved the excitement, the adventure, and the accolades of the crowd. Managing to get another balloon, Gene was soon up in the air again. On October 3, 1909, the Los Angeles Times reported:

Eugene Savage, aeronaut, today returned to Long Beach from Pomona, to be greeted with exclamations of surprise by his friends. He was reported to have fallen from a balloon yesterday afternoon and every bone in his body crushed. Savage, however, appeared to be a lively corpse. He made two ascensions and came down without accident, other than to fall into a corral where there was a fractious horse. The animal was nearly frightened to death at the parachute.

A balloonist’s life was dangerous as well as daring. In March 1910, with 5,500 people watching, Gene Savage narrowly escaped death when his balloon collapsed and he fell three hundred feet. Though he carried a parachute, it failed to open. Finally, about 25 feet above the ground, Savage managed to cut the chute loose. Somehow Savage managed to survive.

It was a sight few would forget, including Squire Du Ree. Du Ree told Long Beach Sun readers twenty-six years after Savage’s fall (July 6, 1936), that he still remembered Gene bouncing like a ball, falling back and striking the curb near Ocean Boulevard and Cedar Avenue. The young balloonist was carried unconscious to his home a few blocks away. Several days later a benefit performance was held for Gene at the Unique Theater. The Long Beach Band played and among those taking part was soon-to-be screen star Roscoe Fatty Arbuckle. Savage was able to appear on the stage and tell how it felt to fall 300 feet. However, as a result of this accident, Gene decided to give up ballooning and take a safer job on the Pike. He became the star in The Slide for Life, which had him sliding down a burning wire! Luck continued to evade the courageous young man. In November 1910, Savage had another close encounter with death when the velocity of the slide caused the asbestos mask to come off his face and he was severely burned. Reading the handwriting on the wall, Gene decided to leave Long Beach and his adventurous life on the Pike to work for aviator Glenn Martin at Martin’s aircraft company in Santa Ana.

Harry Wright’s $250 balloon would have cost over $6,200 in 2011 dollars. A balloon was an expensive commodity and a delicate task to build. A specially woven cloth, strong and tightly made, was sent to balloon factories in 100-yard rolls. Twelve coats of a uniquely prepared varnish made from linseed oil and other ingredients were added to the cloth to make it hydrogen proof. Six hours of sunshine and several weeks of shade per coat were required to thoroughly varnish and dry the material. During this time the fabric was stretched so the varnish would not peel off. Finally the cloth was ready to be cut up. Two long strips of cloth, one on top of the other, were cut in an undulating curve then sewn together and the seams treated with specially prepared cement.

The December 30, 1909, Daily Telegram sadly reported the death of Harry Wright in a train wreck in Idaho. Long Beach folk mourned the young lad who had performed so heroically on the Pike, until it was learned that Wright had faked his own death. It seemed he had placed his identification on the body of a barely recognizable tramp killed in the accident. Wright had sold his balloon and saw the accident as a way to start a new life, free of debt and a pregnant wife. He was later said to be alive in Stockton, California, but no further word on him was ever reported.

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TINY BROADWICK LANDING WITH PARACHUTE.

TINY AND ETHEL BROADWICK

It’s hard to believe that in the days when women were not allowed to vote and a female’s place was definitely thought to be in the home, that a woman would become one of the first people to parachute out of an airplane. None of that parachute jumping for us aviators, it’s too dangerous, noted airman Phil Parmalee told the Los Angeles Times on January 24, 1912, after witnessing 85 pound Georgia Tiny Broadwick jump from a balloon during the third Dominguez Air Meet. In the same article Glenn Curtiss told reporters he instructed his students to never jump, even in an accident. Curtiss said it was much safer to stay in the plane .

Tiny’s career began in 1908 in a small town in North Carolina, not far from where the Wright brothers had made their historic flight only five years earlier. She was just 14 years old when The Broadwicks: Famous French Aeronauts made an appearance that year putting on an amazing parachuting demonstration. It was a life changing experience for Tiny. From that moment on Tiny was hooked. She knew parachuting was the life for her.

Dreams of adventure and glamour away from the impoverished life she had previously known led her to pester Charles Broadwick so much that he finally relented and let her join the troupe. He identified with the young girl and her quest for a better future. Born John Murray to an indigent Florida family in 1874, he had taken the stage name Charles Broadwick when he took up parachute jumping at age 16. In addition to Tiny’s zeal and enthusiasm another factor influenced Broadwick to take her on — he needed a female in his act.

Women daredevils were a novelty, attracting a larger crowd than male jumpers. Broadwick’s wife, Maude, had been killed in an aerial mishap in November 1905. He was still trying to escape reporters who were trying to get him to admit it was no accident. They believed she had deliberately let go of a rope 200 feet from the ground, committing suicide, following a heated argument with her