Written by Robert G. Waldvogel

Although Long Island indigenous Grumman Corporation never produced a bonafide “airliner,” one of its designs enjoyed limited commercial success.

Founded by Leroy Randle Grumman, who was once plant manager of the Loening Aircraft and Engineering Corporation, the Grumman Aircraft and Engineering Corporation planted its initial roots in Baldwin, NY on January 2, 1930. As the years went by the company moved to progressively larger facilities—first to Valley Stream eight miles away, then to the Fairchild Flying Field, 16 miles away in Farmingdale, and finally to the sprawling Bethpage plant on April 8, 1937. The need for even more space prompted the opening of a secondary location at the United States Naval Air Facility “Peconic River” plant, in 1953.

Principally a supplier to the Navy, Marines, and Coast Guard, Grumman produced its famous F2F, F3F, F4F Wildcat, F6F Hellcat, F7F Tigercat, F8F Bearcat, F9F Panther and Cougar, F11F Tiger, TBF Avenger, and F-14 Tomcat series, most of which were instrumental in the victorious conclusion of several wars.

The G-21 Goose, the first of its aircraft that saw commercial service, was also the company’s first monoplane.

“In 1936, the Grumman Aircraft Corporation of Bethpage was approached by several wealthy Long Island residents who needed a small plane for personal transportation,” according to Long Island aviation historian Joshua Stoff, “They wanted an aircraft large enough to carry their families and baggage on trips, luxurious enough to fit their business needs, and flexible enough to take off and land either from the land or the sea.”

These residents’ selection of Grumman was the result of a referral. The initial request was to Loening for a successor to its Air Yacht and Commuter amphibians. Since he did not possess the facilities to undertake the project, Loening, who himself was a Grumman consultant, recommended them. Work on Design 21 began in 1936.

Representing transitional technology, the resulting design featured a riveted aluminum structure with a 38.3-foot overall length; a high-mounted wing, which had a 49-foot span and 375-square-foot area (but incorporated aft, fabric-covered sections and control surfaces), two outboard wing floats, and two nine-cylinder, 450-hp Pratt and Whitney Junior radials attached to the wing’s leading edge. Additional design features included a two-step hull for aquatic surface operations; a conventional tail; two single-wheel, upward-retracting main wheels for nesting in the fuselage sides; and a tail wheel.

The enclosed cabin, located behind the two-person cockpit, accommodated up to eight and was entered by an aft, port door. Convenience in flight was provided by a small galley and a lavatory. Baggage compartments were in the nose and behind the cabin.

When it first flew on May 29, 1935, The G-35 “Goose” became Grumman’s first twin-engine, land and water design, and the first with significant civil and commercial application.

The 65-minute inaugural flight from Bethpage, with a Manhasset Bay landing for demonstration purposes, led to type certification four months later, on September 29. The G-35’s max gross weight was 7,500 pounds. The type’s cruise speed was 175 mph and its payload- and fuel-determined range varied from 795 to 1,150 miles.

“The ease of handling, good stability, and satisfactory performance demonstrated during trials soon made the Goose a very popular aircraft with civil and military customers alike,” according to Rene J. Francillon in Grumman Aircraft since 1929. “Moreover, it proved to have a very strong airframe, thus endowing many of the 345 aircraft built by Grumman between May 1937 and October 1945 with a long service life.”

The G-35’s reasonable $60,000 price tag did not deter orders.

Aside from providing, as intended, comfortable transportation from water-front Long Island mansions to Wall Street and being used for similar, private purposes in the rest of the country, Canada, and the UK, this forerunner of the modern corporate jet had commercial application, as indicated by KNILM’s, KLM’s East Indian subsidiary, operation of it in March of 1940.

Bob Reeve, who amassed experience connecting Anchorage and Cold Bay during World War II, began regularly scheduled service to the Aleutian Islands in April of 1948 as Reeve Airways with a motley fleet of Long Island-originating aircraft, including the G-21 Goose and the Fairchild 71, (along with Douglas DC-3s and Sikorsky S-43s).

In the Caribbean, St. Croix-based Antilles Air Boats operated 18 G-21s, linking several islands as of February 1964, with service continuing all the way into the early 1980’s, and Mackey Airlines connected Miami with the Bahamas using its own G-21As until Eastern acquired the company in 1967.

Two carriers also used the type for the short, 21-mile hop from the California coast to Catalina Island—Avalon Air Transport from Long Beach and Catalina Seaplanes from San Pedro Harbor.

Grumman G-21 Goose Images from Wiki Commons

Written by Robert G. Waldvogel

The Curtiss Aeroplane and Motor Company, reflecting the name of its founder, Glenn Hammond Curtiss, produced a handful of passenger-carrying transports on Long Island, after it established a research and development facility there in 1918. One of them was the Condor.

Its two major versions represented transitional technology, serving as bridges between the bi-plane and monoplane airliner (examples of the latter including the Boeing 247 and the Douglas DC-2).

“In most respects, (the Condor) was a step backwards in aircraft design—a twin-engine biplane whose forest of struts and wires provided built-in headwinds,” according to Robert J. Serling in Eagle: The Story of American Airlines (New York: St. Martin’s/Marek, 1985, p. 55).

In the early 1930’s Eastern Air Transport (later Eastern Air Lines) was expanding. This expansion included the acquisitions of New York Airways in 1931, along with its Atlantic City route, and Ludington Air Lines two years later, in 1933, with its own New York-Washington route authority. Eastern inaugurated a New York-Miami through-service with the very first Model 18 Condor to see commercial service on January 7, 1933. Differing from the later Model 32, it featured twin vertical stabilizers. Eastern used it to funnel winter-weary passengers to Florida’s sunbaked beaches. The Model 18 was also operated by National Air Transport.

Although the new type was slow and lumbering it was considered the first sleeper transport, whose comfort emulated the railroad’s Pullman berths, a necessity on stretches that required the morning set of the alarm to reach throughout the night.

Advancement occurred on many levels in the later Model 32 of 1933. The 32 was powered by two 710-hp, nine-cylinder Wright SCR-1820-F3 radials that turned three-bladed, variable-pitch propellers. This reduced the noise and vibration that otherwise propagated through the cabin like a tuning fork. The Condor II, as it was also known, was the result of frame-and-fabric construction, had a 49.6-foot length (actually shorter than its Condor I predecessor), and an 82-foot wingspan built with a tubular spar. Only a single vertical and horizontal tailplane was employed.

Drag reduction, attempting to compensate for that generated by the wing struts, was to some degree achieved with a retractable undercarriage.

Accommodation in a cabin blanketed with 70 pounds of soundproofing material was for 15 day or 12 night-berth passengers, who were attended to by a single “stewardess.”

First flying on January 30, 1933, the 32 had a 17,500-pound gross weight, an 840-mile range, and a 22,000-foot service ceiling.

American Airlines, which placed a $500,000 order for ten model 32’s, placed them into sleeper service between Ft. Worth and Los Angeles, which constituted a portion of its transcontinental route, on May 5, 1934, offering a competitive advantage over TWA and United. Neither of these competitors could not offer comparable comfort with their existing equipment. The 32 was also used to increase AAL’s daily round trip frequencies between New York and Chicago in September, advertising in its June 15, 1934 system timetable, “The world’s first complete sleeper planes.” One such route included Dallas, Ft. Worth, Abilene, Big Spring, and El Paso in Texas, Douglas, Tucson, and Phoenix in Arizona, and Los Angeles in California.

While The Condor Model 32 rarely achieved its 145-mph maximum speed and had a penchant for icing, it was otherwise popular.

Passengers loved the Condor’s roomy cabin,” according to Serling (ibid, p. 56). “In American’s configuration, the big biplane carried 18 passengers by day and could accommodate 14 in the surprisingly spacious berths. Compared to the noisy, rattling Fords and cramped Stinsons and Vultees, the Condor interior was palatial and compensated for the airliner’s abysmal performance.”

Of the 45 produced, not an insignificant quantity for their time, wore the colors of Swissair in Europe and Avianca and LAN-Chile in South America. They also served in military roles with the Army Air Corps, the Navy, and the Marines in the US, and with the air forces of China, Colombia, Honduras, and Peru, among others.

Curtiss T-32 Condor Images
Wiki Commons

Written by Robert G. Waldvogel

Pilgrim Photographs from Wiki Commons

Few “airliners,” regardless of size, emerged from aircraft manufacturers located on Long Island. Even fewer were operated by the likes of American Airlines. However, the American Airplane and Engine Corporation Pilgrim 100 was one of them.

Conceptualized by Fairchild, but subsequently continued by the American Airplane and Engine Corporation, the new company planted its roots in the former Fairchild factory at Republic Airport in 1931. It represented, to a degree, the influence an aircraft manufacturer could exert on an airline.

William Littlewood, General Manager of the original Fairchild Engine factory, and Myron Gould Beard, a pilot and engineer there, ultimately took up employment at then-named American Airways. The former’s first significant assignment was to develop specifications for a cost-effective airliner. An “Airliner,” then, signified no more than a dozen passengers.

“Out of this assignment came the Pilgrim, the first commercial transport to be designed according to an airline’s specifications,” according to Robert J. Serling in Eagle: The Story of American Airlines (St. Martin’s/Marek, 1985, p. 19). “It was a single-engine plane carrying nine passengers and flown by a single pilot. The cockpit was inaccessible from the cabin; messages to the passengers were passed through a sliding panel in a bulkhead.”

Principally designed by Fairchild Chief Engineer Otto Kirchner and Project Engineer John Lee, the Pilgrim was the result of an Aviation Corporation’s (Avco) $35,000 study to replace existing single-engine types that proved too small for American’s needs, (AAL’s existing trimotors offered too much capacity). The initial, 15-aircraft order supplied the carrier’s Embry-Riddle, Southern, and Universal divisions.

The prototype aircraft was powered by a 575-hp Pratt and Whitney, nose-mounted R-1340 Wasp engine. The Pilgrim featured a high, straight, fabric-covered wing; three passenger windows and a fourth at the top of the exit door on either side of its fuselage; two single-wheel main undercarriage bogies truss-rigged from the wing; a tailwheel; and an enclosed, single-person cockpit and nine-passenger cabin. The production 100A version was equipped with a 575-hp Pratt and Whitney Hornet B-16 engine, which was replaced by the equally rated Wright Cyclone R-1820 radial on the later 100B which also introduced a larger vertical tail. American operated both variants.

Featuring a 39.2-foot overall length and a 57.5-foot wingspan, the Pilgrim carried a 2,150-pound payload and had a 7,100-pound gross weight. Range was 510 miles. Cruising speed was 118 mph and its service ceiling was 13,600 feet.

Of the 26 Pilgrims produced, American operated 22 100As and 100Bs, and the US Army Air Corps flew four designated “Y1C-24,” employing them on light cargo and supply missions. In their later aeromedical evacuation role, they accommodated four litter patients.

“Pilgrim aircraft were a favorite among Alaskan bush pilots during the time when air transportation was establishing superiority over dog teams, steamboats, and railroads in transporting passengers and freight in the territory of Alaska,” according to the National Register of Historic Places’ Inventory Nomination Form.

Because of their rugged reliability, they helped establish an intra-state aerial infrastructure. More than half of the civil and military Pilgrims provided passenger, cargo, supply, and mail lifelines to remote outposts and isolated communities surrounded by terrain inaccessible by ground transport. They operated in harsh climates, often alighting on ill-equipped fields with wheels and aquatic surfaces with floats. Bush pilots flew them well into the 1960s.

Pacific Alaska Airlines introduced the type on November 1, 1935, after American replaced its fleet with larger equipment. The carrier supplemented its existing Lockheed L-10 Electras with the type and used the Pilgrim to inaugurate a scheduled Juneau-Fairbanks service.

Aircraft N709Y, the only one remaining from those days, was acquired by the Alaska Aviation Heritage Museum.

“The Pilgrim N709Y is significant for its historic role in the development of aviation in Alaska,” according to the Inventory Nomination Form. “This aircraft was the first Pilgrim flown to Alaska and was one of approximately 13 Pilgrims (out of the 26 that were built) that served as the workforce of Alaska aviation in the late 1930s and early 1940s.”

The museum’s example was constructed on September 4, 1931. N709Y, serial number 6605, had a 3,247-pound payload and a 7.750-pound maximum takeoff weight, receiving its commercial aircraft license (the former equivalent of today’s airworthiness certificate) before being delivered to American Airways on November 21. With a full passenger complement and baggage load, it had an 86-gallon fuel capacity. Converted to Pilgrim 100B standard in 1934, it introduced the aforementioned larger vertical tail and 1820-F Cyclone engine.

Acquired by Alaska Air Express, it was operated until 1940, after which it wore Star Air Services’ colors, and served Anchorage and Juneau, as well as the Kuskokwim and Iditarod regions. Purchased by Alaska Airlines, it was deployed on scheduled routes from Anchorage, Cordova, and Valdez, and it provided feeder links from Juneau, Petersburg, and Sitka. Alaska Airlines reacquired it on November 11, 1970, for public relations purposes, since it represented part of its historic fleet.

Ball Brothers Seafood was this example’s last operator and one of more than a dozen others owned by the company. More than a million pounds of fish were transported by this single airplane from Bristol Bay and Southeast Alaska, usually directly from the beach, before Anchorage’s Alaska Aviation Heritage Museum took possession of it on November 5, 2001.

Subjected to a ten-year, $1 million refurbishment program in Montana, San Francisco, and Anchorage, aircraft N709Y, the last known Pilgrim in existence, saw the replacement of most of its fuselage wood supports; the recovering of its wings, ailerons, horizontal, and vertical stabilizers, and elevators and rudder. Also included was the installation of a newly-constructed fuel tank and tailwheel, clearing it for sightseeing flights.

“Flying people, cargo, cows, and fish, the Pilgrim was key to the development of commerce in Alaska,” the nomination form concludes. “It is powered by a Pratt and Whitney R-1340 engine that gave it the thrust needed to lift and haul equipment, boilers, and fish from gravel strips and beaches. Due to its unique specifications and accessories, this aircraft is registered on the National Registry as the first to have a washbasin and toilet for inflight bathroom use.”

Because of the Great Depression, the American Airplane and Engine Corporation ceased operating in mid-1932 and once again reverted to its Fairchild foundation.

Written by Robert G. Waldvogel

Seeking to inaugurate transatlantic scheduled service from New York to complement its existing Martin M-130 Pacific routes from San Francisco (Alameda) to Hong Kong via Manila, Pan American Airways submitted a proposal for a long-range, four-engine, transoceanic flying boat. It would be capable of carrying a 10,000-pound payload on at least 2,400 statute mile routes against a 30-mph headwind at 150-mph. The proposals went to Boeing, Consolidated, Douglas, and Sikorsky. This was in February of 1936. As Andre A. Priester, its chief engineer, pointed out, “Flying boats carried their own airports on their bottom.”

The ultimately selected Boeing B-314 was a true, aerial ocean liner that was both efficient and elegant, and in a class of its own.

Befitting a mixed-mode vehicle, it employed ship construction techniques with a compartmented double bottom and full-depth, forward and aft, watertight bulkheads, producing a 106-foot overall length. The massive, three-section, high-mounted wing, which spanned 152 feet, was subdivided into a center, hull-integral section that extended beyond either side’s inner engine nacelles, and two outer, watertight sections. Its center wing spar, supported by the upper fuselage, featured both increased strength and internal volume, while its 4,200-gallon fuel capacity was distributed between wing center section and lower-fuselage extending “sponson” tanks. Appearing like mini-wings, these sponsons provided lateral, in-water stability, obviating the need for traditional floats, and alternatively served as passenger entry platforms leading to the cabin door. So cavernous were the main wings, that they contained interior catwalks to permit in-flight inspection and maintenance of both their structure and the state of the engines.

Powered by four, 14-cylinder, 1,500-hp Wright Cyclone R-2600-A2 piston engines housed in 69-inch-diameter nacelles and driving three-bladed, 14.9-foot-diameter, fully feathering Hamilton Standard propellers, the Boeing B-314 had an 82,500-pound maximum takeoff weight and a 23,500-pound payload capacity. Its service ceiling was 21,000 feet.

Subdivided into two decks, the flying boat featured a carpeted and upholstered-chair upper level stretching more than six feet in height and extending 21 feet in length. It was provision

ed with pilot, copilot, navigator, and radio operator cockpit positions; a master’s desk; a meteorologist’s station; crew sleeping bunks; and a baggage compartment which was partially located in the wing. Cockpit and cabin crew consisted of between 10 and 16 members. A starboard-positioned stairway provided inter-deck connection.

The sound-proofed cabin, itself subdivided, featured five, ten-passenger compartments; a single, special, four-passenger section; a deluxe bridal suite; a dining room; a full-service galley; a men’s restroom; and a ladies’ powder room. Passenger capacity ranged from 74 by day to 34 by night, in convertible berths.

Amid the blare of a brass band and a quay thronged with friends, relatives, messengers, reporters, and photographers, the first 22 passengers, having had their tickets, passports, and baggage checked (the latter restricted to a 15-pound maximum), filed down the long dock to which the B-314, immersed in Port Washington, Long Island’s, Manhasset Bay, was moored. The date was June 28, 1939, and the plane they boarded was the most mammoth and luxurious American airliner yet built, one that both internally and externally reflected the nautical heritage which had inspired it.

Piloted by Captain Rod Sullivan, who had previously operated the inaugural flight to Wake Island in the Pacific on the Sikorsky S-42, the transatlantic B-314 “Dixie Clipper” inched away from the dock at 1500 hours, local time.

Lumbering through Manhasset Bay, it executed its acceleration run, cascading water being pushed up behind it. Moving up “on step,” it disengaged itself from the surface, and the North American continent, leaving both behind at a 120-mph airspeed. When a post-departure engine check revealed good readings, the throttles were pulled back from the 1,550 to the 1,200-hp level, thresholding an initial climb to 750 feet, and then a secondary power reduction, to 900 hp, for a final ascent to altitude at 126 mph.

Aerially connecting the North American and European continents, the “Dixie Clipper” alighted in Horta, the Azores, and Lisbon, Portugal, before terminating in Marseilles, France, the following day after a flawless execution of the southern transatlantic route.

“Yankee Clipper” operated the first northern one on July 8 with 17 passengers. Fares were $375.00 one-way and $675.00 round trip.

According to Pan American’s June 24, 1939 timetable, the once-weekly, 3,411-mile northern crossing, operating as Fight 100, departed Port Washington at 0730, arriving in Shediac, New Brunswick, at 1230. An hour later, it took off for Botwood, Newfoundland, alighting at 1630, before redeparting at 1800 for the oceanic portion of the journey, touching down in Foynes, Ireland, at 0830 the following day and once again becoming airborne at 0930. It reached its Southampton destination at 1300. The return, Flight 101 left two days later, at 1400, and arrived in Port Washington, also at 1400, the day after that.

The longer, 4,251-mile southern route, operated under flight number 120, departed at 1200, transited Horta, the Azores and Lisbon, and arrived in Marseilles at 1500, two days after it left Long Island. The return, as Flight 121, departed at 0800 and touched down in Port Washington at 0700, also two days later.

World War II proved to be Port Washington’s enemy as a center of civil flying boat activity. Hostilities initially necessitated northern and southern route terminations in, respectively, Foynes and Lisbon, before the former was altogether discontinued on October 3, 1939, the last Manhasset Bay operations occurring with “Dixie Clipper,” “Yankee Clipper,” and “American Clipper” on March 28 of the following year.

Although Pan American ultimately transferred its Atlantic operations to North Beach (later La Guardia) Airport, longer-range landplanes, particularly in the form of Boeing’s own B-377 Stratocruiser, Douglas’s DC-6 and DC-7, and Lockheed’s Constellation, along with more suitable, paved runways, quickly eliminated the need for waterborne aircraft capabilities.

Brief though it was, the flying boat era constituted a glorious period of commercial aviation.

Written by Marnix (Max) Groot

Published: October 6th, 2019 | Updated: January 31st, 2020
Original article published in airporthistory.org

Dawn of the supersonic age

​In the late 1960s, the expectation was that, by the late 20th century, the majority of long-haul passengers would fly in supersonic aircraft.

At the time, all major aircraft manufacturers in Europe, the US and the USSR were developing concepts for ‘supersonic transport aircraft’, or SST. The largest SST model, the Boeing 2707 would carry 300 passengers, which was 60 passengers less than the first 747 in a three-class layout. The Anglo-French Concorde carried between 92 and 128 passengers.

In anticipation of this development, Boeing designed the 747 with the characteristic hump, so that it could be easily converted into cargo aircraft if its design became obsolete for passenger transport.

Despite their spectacular design and performance characteristics, SSTs were designed to make use of existing runways and terminals. ​ However, SSTs did still have an impact the design of airports, or to be more specific, their location. SSTs were extremely noisy. Hence, new airports that were expected to handle SSTs were often planned far away from the cities they served.

In this article, we will examine how some prominent airports in the late 1960s prepared for the supposedly inevitable takeover of the SST!

East Coast

NEW YORK
​
Being a world city and the primary US international gateway, New York was destined to become the SST capital of the world, with both US and foreign flag carriers operating supersonic service to cities and around the globe.

New York’s Kennedy Airport was the main base for Pan Am and TWA, America’s most prominent international airlines at the time. Both airlines had options on Boeing’s SST as well as the Anglo-French Concorde. In the late 1960s, both airlines commenced expansion projects of their terminals, that were prepared to accommodate the new generation of wide-body aircraft and SSTs.

Read our full history on New York’s Kennedy Airport. Read more about the early days of the Pan Am terminal and TWA Flight Center.

MIAMI 
​
Miami, being the gateway to Latin America and a major base for long-haul Pan Am flights, was expected to become a major SST hub. Miami International Airport was located in the middle of built up areas and SST noise was expected become a major issue.

In 1968, the decision was taken to build a huge new airport in the Florida Everglades, which planners envisioned would become a major intercontinental SST hub. The “Everglades Jetport” would have been five times larger than New York’s Kennedy Airport. ​

The airport was planned to have six runways in its final layout and would be connected to Miami by an expressway and monorail line.

Initially, the Everglades Jetport would supplement Miami International Airport but in the long term it would replace it completely. After completion of the first 10,499-foot (3,200-meter) runway in 1970, construction was halted due to a scathing environmental impact report. Named the Dade-Collier Training and Transition Airport, the airport nowadays is used as an aviation training facility.

We will soon post a separate article about the Everglades Jetport as part of our “Never Built” series!

West Coast

​LOS ANGELES
​
As the third largest US city at the time (now second largest), Los Angeles was surely to become a major destination for SST jets. Due to the location of LAX, noise considerations were also a major concern, even though most take-offs would have been over the ocean.

In 1968, the city started a search for suitable locations for a large-scale airport, which would supplement LAX and could accommodate SST jets.

One potential solution was the construction of an airport, two miles offshore, which could host SST operations without any noise problems.

Finally, however, planners chose to develop a new airport on a site near Palmdale, 62 miles (100 kilometers) north of Los Angeles. The city purchased 17,000 acres of land west of Air Force Plant 42, to develop what would be named Palmdale Intercontinental Airport, a mega jetport with four parallel runways.

Although a small passenger terminal opened in 1971, the scheme never came to fruition.

​A separate article on Palmdale will be launched in the future as part of our “Never Built” series!

SAN FRANCISCO
​
Being a major international gateway as well as a base for both Pan Am and TWA, San Francisco International Airport was projected to welcome significant SST traffic. This is evident in San Francisco International Airport’s 1967 draft master plan. Many of the stands on the newly built and reconfigured concourses show SSTs.

The master plan report mentions that the planners made a special trip to Boeing in Seattle to view the mock ups of the Boeing 2707 (as well as the 747) in order to obtain first-hand knowledge of the problems and possibilities of handling the new generation of aircraft.

Although SST noise was a concern, it was a bit less pressing than at other major airports around the nation. Due to its location bordering San Francisco Bay and its runway configuration, most SST flights would have been able to both land and take-off over the Bay.

Mid-America’s jetports

HOUSTON, KANSAS CITY, DALLAS
​
Contrary to the coastal US cities, most cities in the Midwest and South had an abundance of space to build new airports.
In the late 1960s and early 1970s, a new generation of large-scale ‘jetports’ opened in the American heartland: Houston Intercontinental (1969), Kansas City (1972) and Dallas-Fort Worth (1973).

They were designed in the mid-to-late 1960s, at the height of the SST hype and when air traffic was growing by 15% annually. These airports were located far way from the cities they served and had almost unlimited possibilities to expand.

In 1966, Dallas-based Braniff International Airways took an option on three Concorde aircraft. This is reflected in the 1968 DFW master plan, which indicates various stands with parked Concorde aircraft.

Many design decisions for the new Kansas City Airport–whose terminals bore a strong resemblance to those of Dallas-Fort Worth–were driven by TWA, who operated a major base there.

The airline envisioned the new airport as a major intercontinental hub serving the heartland, using its fleet of 747s and SSTs.

In the near future, we will post full histories on the old and current airports of Dallas, Houston and Kansas City!

Canada

​MONTREAL 
​
​​In the late 1960s, at the height of SST development, the Canadian city of Montréal was one of North America’s most important international gateways–many inbound flights from Europe on their way to cities like New York, Chicago and Houston made a stopover at Montréal’s Dorval Airport.

The airport was quickly becoming saturated and planners started looking ahead. They assumed that traffic would grow with 15% annually into the foreseeable future and that the majority of people would be transported in SST aircraft.

Based on that assumption, it was decided to build a vast new airport one hour north-west of Montréal. In its final layout, the airport would boast six runways and six passenger terminals. A large buffer zone was established around the airport to ensure noise would never become an issue. The first phase of Montréal Mirabel Airport opened on October 4th, 1975.

Europe

Contrary to the American heartland and Canada, space in Europe comes at a premium. The development of large-scale greenfield airport projects is generally very difficult in Europe.

With the advent of the Jet Age and SSTs dominance on the horizon, several European capitals, such as London, Paris, Amsterdam and Copenhagen sought to build new airports.

LONDON
​
Similar to New York, London was slated to become one of the busiest SST hubs. In 1964, the UK’s long-haul flag carrier BOAC (later British Airways) declared the intention to buy eight Concorde aircraft.

Heathrow, London’s primary airport, was located in the city’s western suburbs and aircraft noise was becoming a major concern. In addition, with traffic booming in the 1960s, both Heathrow and Gatwick were thought to reach capacity well before the end of the century. Hence, the construction of a third London airport was deemed necessary.

In 1971, the government selected Maplin Sands, located in the Thames Estuary, as the location for a new four-runway airport. With takeoffs and landings taking place over open water, London Maplin, would have offered an effective solution for the SST noise issue.

However, in late 1973, the Maplin scheme was abandoned due to rising construction costs and falling passenger demand due to the oil crisis.

We’ll be publishing a separate article on the search for a third London airport in the near future.

PARIS

​Similar to New York and London, Paris was bound to see plenty of SST operations. In 1964, Air France, declared the intention to buy eight Concorde aircraft. Air France’s home base, Paris Orly Airport, was nearing capacity and was located in the middle of built up areas, making it unsuitable for the operation of noisy SSTs.

In 1964, the French government gave the green light to build a new Jet-Age airport north-east of Paris. Planning work on Roissy Airport, named after a nearby village, started in 1966, when it seemed sure that 747s and SSTs would soon rule the skies.

In its final layout, the airport would boast five runways and five massive, futuristic, round terminal buildings, the perfect setting for the SSTs. Seemingly to match the high speeds in the air, the airport’s design was optimized for high-speed circulation, loading and unloading of aircraft. Roissy, renamed Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport, opened for service in March, 1973.

South America

RIO DE JANEIRO
​
In the late 1960s and 1970s, Brazil enjoyed very high rates of economic growth. People started to speak about the “Brazilian miracle”. During this period, the government made large scale investments in infrastructure and industry.

​It’s within this context that in 1967, a study into the large-scale expansion of Rio’s Galeão Airport was commenced. As Brazil’s major tourist hub, Rio de Janeiro was expected to see its fair share of SST service. The government engaged Aéroports de Paris–the same organization that designed the brand new Paris de Gaulle Airport–to design a state-of-the-art gateway to Brazil.

The expanded Galeão Airport, called “The Supersonic Airport”, opened in 1977, almost three years behind schedule.

To be concluded in Part 2!

Click here for Part 2, where we will continue the supersonic story and see how things actually worked out for the SST and how SST service was at airports around the world!

Share your thoughts on this article below!

 

 

Written by Emma Rasmussen

Few airlines in the twenty-first century can provide the same friendly allure that the airlines of decades past once exuded. One such example of this seemingly forgotten vibrance and zeal is Pacific Southwest Airlines (PSA). Sporting an iconic “smile” on the noses of their aircraft, it is hardly any wonder their slogan was “The World’s Friendliest Airline.” Throughout the 1970s and 1980s, their smiley airliners, adorned with colorful cheatlines, proudly served the state of California. Headquartered in San Diego, PSA became the way to fly in the Golden State.

PSA’s humble beginnings can be traced back to the years immediately following World War II. Kenny Friedkin, an American aviator, and businessman founded the airline and set the tone for its colorful culture. Friedkin had previously attempted to start an airline known as “Friedkin Airlines,” but this venture failed. PSA was his second and successful attempt. Friedkin’s new airline began offering a weekly round-trip flight from San Diego to Oakland and Burbank. A single DC-3 was leased for $1,000 USD per month.

By the 1950s, PSA’s fleet had grown and been modernized. Friedkin replaced his DC-3s with DC-4s, and painted rectangles around the windows so they more closely resembled the newer DC-6 (which had rectangular windows). At the end of the 1950s, the operation had evolved. An average of 37 flights across California were conducted, with a fare of $9.99 USD. When larger Lockheed L-188 Electra’s joined the fleet PSA instantly overtook its competitors by carrying more passengers between Los Angeles and the Bay Area than any other airline. PSA’s fleet would become even more advanced with the introduction of the Jet Age.

Between 1965 and 1970, PSA took delivery of several new Boeing and Douglas jet airliners, replacing its fleet of propeller aircraft. Between 1974 and 1975, PSA operated two Lockheed L-1011 Tristars. The operation of this twin-aisle airliner would make PSA the only intrastate airline to operate a wide-body airliner. The Tristar was particularly unique for PSA at the time, as it featured a luxurious lower deck lounge. Despite these major fleet updates, PSA was faced with stiff competition from Air California (later “AirCal”), it’s fellow Golden State intrastate airline and largest rival.

PSA and Air California operated the few remaining Lockheed Electra’s in their fleet (in PSA’s case L-188’s that were re-purchased after its original Electra’s was retired) to provide flights into Lake Tahoe Airport, which had a jet ban until the 1980s. PSA retired it’s Electras, as did Air California when the jet ban was lifted. PSA never returned to this hot destination, but AirCal recommenced flights with all new McDonnell Douglas MD-80s and Boeing 737-300s. PSA focused on expanding its business model to other neighboring states after the Airline Deregulation Act of 1978 took effect. AirCal soon followed suit.

PSA’s new pastures included Albuquerque, Phoenix, Tucson, Reno, Las Vegas, and Salt Lake City. The maturing airline installed automated ticketing and check-in machines at its various destinations. PSA had planned to expand further east through the purchase of assets from Braniff International Airways, a struggling Texan airline. Unfortunately, this transaction did not come to pass, and PSA expanded to Idaho, the Pacific North West, and small under-served airports throughout California. The introduction of the BAe-146 in the early 1980s enabled PSA to expand within California.

One can attribute PSA’s success to their affordable intrastate business model, which Southwest Airlines later pursued upon its own founding. However, it is important to note that PSA had a pleasurable company culture that made it unique. Friedkin, the airline’s founder, was known for his laid-back attire and assortment of Hawaiian shirts. Management encouraged crew members to joke with passengers and provide extravagant customer service. The airline introduced flamboyant, yet flattering uniforms for their stewardesses, which matched the airline’s branding. PSA’s corporate culture inspired Herb Kelleher, the founder of Southwest Airlines. Kelleher implemented many of PSA’s innovations in his own airline after ample studying.

Today, PSA’s legacy lives on as a nostalgia livery for American Airlines and the inspiration for Southwest Airlines. In 1988, PSA completed its merger with USAir, which eventually became US Airways. By the mid-1990s, PSA’s original route network had completely ceased to exist within USAir. After several more airline mergers, PSA eventually found a place in American Airlines’ heritage. PSA may no longer exist, but it remains a colorful part of aviation’s extensive and storied history.

Originally published in Horizons – Embry Riddle Aeronautical University

Photos  from the Jon Proctor collection & WikiMediaCommons

Written by Shea Oakley

If you are an older traveler and airline enthusiast living along the so-called “Northeast Corridor” of the U.S. it is likely you have a story about the Air-Shuttle. When I use the term “Air-Shuttle” I’m not referring to those run today by Delta or American. For me this reference has always been synonymous with Eastern Air Lines, the airline that started the whole concept of an hourly guaranteed seat service between New York-La Guardia, and both Boston-Logan and Washington-National airports. The airline that “threw in the towel” only after over a quarter-century of dominance on those routes, and that only two years before its own demise as a pioneering American air carrier. At the time of the Shuttle’s sale to Donald Trump in 1989 there was perhaps no greater symbol of the decline of a once great company than its loss.

I am one of those “avgeek” denizens of the Northeast who has a few personal recollections of the Eastern Air-Shuttle to share.

Sorry, no tales about eventful LGA-DCA Connie flights through summer thunderstorms. The last back-up L-1049’s were retired less than a week after my birth in February 1968. The retirement took place on St. Valentine’s day that year and EAL had a brilliant advertising tagline touting the advent of all jet-powered service: “On Valentine’s day You can Kiss Connie Goodbye.” I do, however, have a Lockheed Electra story. It was July of 1977 and my dad and I were returning to our home in New Jersey from a whale-watching trip in Nova Scotia. At Logan we hoped to catch what I believe was the last La Guardia-bound Shuttle that night. I remember gazing at two aircraft from the concourse windows of Eastern’s exclusive terminal building at that airport. One of them was a newly stripped to bare metal DC-9-31. Beyond it, gloriously lit by airport floodlights, was a white EAL airplane with four turboprop engines incorporating the largest propeller blades I had ever seen. Apparently the load looked heavy that evening so Eastern, true to its perennial Air-Shuttle guaranteed seat policy, had trundled out the old bird (one of several still being used for back-up sections only). I was nine years-old and more than a little excited. The Electra looked so exotic to this child of the “Jet Age” and I wanted that ride so dearly that I could taste it. Alas, it was not to be. We were all accommodated on the ‘Nine and as we pushed back my dream plane sat there, forlornly alone on the ramp. Three months later the airline retired its last Electra’s, thus crushing my hope of ever having such an opportunity again. At age nine you don’t tell your parents you are heading out to the airport and catching every Air-Shuttle flight until you manage a ride on a Lockheed 188.

One day in 1981 I boarded flight 18256, once again from Boston to New York. My logbook confirms it was a Boeing 727, and my strong recollection was that it also was a 727-100, the airplane possibly was an equipment sub for the Shuttle-dedicated 727-200’s on strength at the time. The interior (and the “flight dynamics” that day) seemed to me a bit rough around the edges, generally projecting an aura of the aircraft in question having been perhaps an early, 1964-era, build “Three-Holer”. That said, the flight was on time and the service as good as the Shuttle framework allowed. It is interesting to me that some of those very early 727-100’s were still wearing the distinctive EAL “Falcon” logo while flying late into the 1980’s.

My last Shuttle trip was just before I left home to get an aviation management degree at college. I wanted my father, with whom I had enjoyed many trips in earlier years, to accompany me on one last journey before I “left the nest,” so to speak. Having decided on a day together in Washington D.C., we were on the first LGA-DCA flight that morning. This was during the late summer of 1986 and Eastern was in the process of renovating all of its Shuttle terminals. The recent Texas Air buyout struggle (which would ultimately lead to the ignominious end of EAL) seemed very far away as the smells and sounds of construction filled its section of National Airport when we deplaned that day. I remember that the 727 stretch back to La Guardia said “Air-Shuttle Plus” on the forward fuselage. This was part of a leftover marketing effort to become more competitive with the New York Air shuttle which had attained to a fairly large chunk of the market at Eastern’s expense. New York Air ironically had also belonged to Frank Lorenzo’s short-lived airline empire along with the airline that “earned its wings every day.”

Today if I want to head North to Boston or South to our nation’s capital there is, of course, no Eastern Air-Shuttle to fly. There is little doubt in my mind that American or Delta’s contemporary shuttle operation will get me there with reasonable dispatch and bearable service. But they are still imitators as far as I am concerned. When someone uses the term “Air-Shuttle” I will always only remember the one that was “On Time, On the Hour, and On the Money.”

Note: All photos sourced from Wikipedia.com and WikiCommons

Written by Lester Anderson

[All photography from Wikimedia Commons.]

I live about three minutes from touchdown at Newark Airport for a few approaches landing to the south. I know this because I follow the overhead aircraft on my phone with Flightradar24.  I enjoy seeing from what airport the aircraft was arriving, the type aircraft and its altitude and speed at that moment.  Since the virtual shutdown of air travel due to the COVID-19 virus I see almost no traffic overhead. A large percent of what I do see are freight carriers (UPS and FedEx both have major hubs at EWR) since passenger flights are rare the freight is much more likely to be on one of those carriers with their expanded schedules.

But I love flying (as a passenger, I am not a pilot). So, what is there to do? My solution is to think of the “good times” of travel in the past.  Besides the actual flights, a lot of my memories concern the airports from which I departed and at which I arrived.

I once attended to a dinner where one of the guests had just been “retired” from a position with a large bank. She said she had no regrets about being “reorganized out” because the bank gave her the opportunity to travel the world, stay at the best hotels, and eat at the finest restaurants.  In my case, I thank all my former employers for giving me an opportunity to enjoy my (over one and one half million miles) of business travel by taking the flights I wanted, with my careful watch (and working with corporate travel) to cost the company no more that standard routings would cost the firm. If I had to watch any travel expense, for me it was the hotel or restaurants, which I would gladly do to get the airplanes and airports I wanted.

I write these musings with the hope that while you may not have memories of these specific airports, they this will allow you to think back on your own enjoyable experiences in travel.   Some memories go back to the 1960’s, my high school days, but most are in the 70’s 80’s and 90’s.

The East:

I grew up near Newark airport and was a frequent visitor. In those days there was only one terminal, and flight announcements were not posted on a board – they were announced over a PA system.  Being curious, I looked around (and probably asked someone) and found the “closet” in which the woman (it was usually a woman’s voice) sat in front of a microphone announcing what gate a Braniff or Eastern flight was departing from, and the cities to which the flight would travel. Electronic displays today are probably more efficient, but there was something really nice about a real person giving you the instructions on how to start your trip.

Newark has grown.  I remember when there were working terminals A and B, with Terminal C mostly built, but not yet occupied, and the tarmac was not even finished—grass grew under the gate areas awaiting an airline to occupy it and need the gates.  When that happened and PEOPLExpress leased it, a lot of the existing terminal was torn down to build a much larger terminal facility as Terminal C.

In Washington DC, I recall visiting when they first opened the first Metro line to Washington National (now Reagan) and looking at the airport from the elevated train platform.  I realize it may not have been efficient, but the old DCA terminal was a beautiful building that brought me back to an era before my own time, where air travel was something that was very special.  The other DC area airport was Dulles where the mobile lounge was the way you left the terminal to either go directly to an aircraft or to go to another concourse. I never had the travel experience where the mobile lounge brought me directly to the airplane, but I used it as the way to get to a midfield concourse where my United gate was located.

On one business trip I remember landing in Cleveland in what I would consider an almost white out condition.  The snow covered the tarmac, and everything was white.  We landed safely (and with complete faith in the crew), and when I was met by the business associates, and trudged thru snow to the cab, I was told not to worry—it is only “lake effect snow”.  In New York such a snow event would have shut – or at least slowed down – much of the city. But everyone (including the taxi driver) took it all in stride and did not allow the lake effect snow to slow us down.

The South:

With the hub and spoke airline route system, if you went anywhere in the south, odds are you were going to change planes in Atlanta.  I did a lot of flying on Eastern, and they had two concourses, and there was a walkway (you walked under the aircraft gate and taxi area) to the next concourse. From what I read, while it has been closed off, they never filled it in so if ever needed in the future it can be reopened. A pleasant aircraft memory was at Eastern, for a period of time, DC9’s and 727’s would not use a tug to back out of the gate, but a power pushback using the aircraft’s engines.  I am sure it was used elsewhere but I remember it often at ATL. The airport’s five concourses were connected with an underground subway system that for the early years (at least a dozen) had a computer voice announcing what concourse you just arrived at and the next one coming up. The voice was a computer voice that was reminiscent of the science fiction movies of the 50’s and 60’s.  Fortunately, a more normal voice system was later installed.

Dothan Alabama was my first trip to Alabama (I was working for Sony and we had a videotape manufacturing plant there).  It was a small airport with only a few flights a day.  The policeman in charge locked the terminal between flights, and if you arrived early, there was a couch to sit on outside the door until he unlocked it and you could enter the terminal.  This was an early business flight of mine. Republic Airlines had a special fare that for $30 more you could upgrade to First Class. Corporate travel said if I reduced my expense report by $30 they would ticket me. Done deal! (Always good to be friends with Corporate Travel).

DFW was a favorite airport because of a hotel.  There was a Hyatt and it was in the middle of the airport itself.  You could ask at check in for a room that looked over the runway and if you didn’t mind a little (not a lot) of noise, it was great for those of us who loved planes.  I would bring my aircraft band radio and could tune in to listen to the tower while I was watching the planes.  And DFW was busy so you had a lot of action to watch and listen to during the stay.  And while it was not the cheapest area hotel, it was reasonable and it was worth it because you never had to worry about getting to the airport for your 6 AM flight home.

Orlando (with the IATA code MCO because the airport started out as McCoy Air Force Base) in its early days was nothing like the complex it is today.  It was a smaller facility right next to the “Bee Line Expressway”.  The thing I remember most was that although you had to walk to the baggage claim area, which was manual (no luggage carousels), when you arrived your luggage was waiting for you.  I don’t know if the ground crew was far more efficient, or if the walk took longer than I remember.

New Orleans was an interesting airport.  It had the New Orleans “Mardi Gras” look because the first time I was there it was afternoon of that Mardi Gras Tuesday. I remember calling my office (using a pay phone and telephone credit card) to say I was at the airport and was told very forcefully to make sure I got on the plane (it was the last flight out that day).  Corporate travel (with whom I always made friends at every job), told the department secretary to tell me that if I missed the plane, the closest hotel room they could find was over 100 miles away – so make sure I got on the plane.

The Midwest:

In Chicago there are two airports.  O’Hare was the big one and the one into which I mostly flew.   I did use United a lot, and they had two concourses connected by an underground walkway.  I remember it was an almost psychedelic experience because it was lit by a ceiling full of multi-color neon lights, and there was an ethereal, almost science fiction alien music being played as you walked (actually you did not walk, it was a moving walkway). Midway was a smaller airport (with lots of history) and was just being brought back into mainline service.  O’Hare was further out and Midway was in the middle of the city, but I recall the taxi rides were similar in cost and time to the office.

Denver Stapleton was an older airport being replaced by a much larger new one (DIA) much further out.  Like any major construction projects there were delays after delays in completion. When it finally opened I booked a business trip to the west coast with a Denver connection that had a three hour time interval between flights.  I was able to visit all the terminals and see the new airport that day and continue my journey arriving maybe an hour after I would have if I booked the normal flights. I often changed planes at DIA and was amazed that even in the snow (enough snow that I would think it would shut down or greatly delay NY airports) things went on as if it was bright and sunny out.  My flights that I was sure would be delayed due to snow went out on time.

The West:

When you land in Las Vegas you are greeted with a large open area by the gates that has a large bank of slot machines, and people (at all times of day) playing the slots.  I must admit I am not a gambler, and all of my visits were due to visiting trade shows.  The biggest ones were Comdex (a computer trade show) and CES (Consumer Electronics).  In both cases (in those trade shows heydays) there were over 100,000 attendees and hotel space was at a premium.  So were cabs.  When you wheeled your checked luggage (or your carry-on) to the taxi loading area, there was a queue of hundreds of people waiting for a cab. It was very efficient because when you finally got to the front of the line the dispatcher had about 20-30 “slots” they would assign you one.  The cabs would then come up and load whoever was waiting in the slots (for trade shows it was usually one person unless colleagues going to the same hotel wanted to share a cab).  Considering the crowds, it was a very efficient system and it normally took you only about 30 minutes to get into a cab. They told us the city imported hundreds of cabs and drivers during the times of these shows.

LAX (Los Angeles) was the major airport for the area. Landing there you often could see aircraft landing on parallel runways as you were landing.  The thing I remember most of the airport was the restaurant (Currently called Encounter) that is the space age shaped icon that is the main symbol of the airport in most all photos.  When I was visiting it had a very Star Trek motif.  Besides a nice meal (overlooking the airport) while visiting, I also used the restaurant as a meeting place to interview potential employees.  You never had to explain twice where you were meeting them.

In the days before 9/11 security restrictions on terminal airside access I would also use meeting rooms at the Ionosphere Club (Eastern), President’s Club (Continental) or the Red Carpet Club (United) as a great places for potential employee interviews.  I could fly into an airport, do 2 or 3 interviews, then fly back and never leave the airport.  The cost for renting the meeting room was less than a taxi ride into the city.

SNA—John Wayne Airport was a nice alternative to LAX if you were going South of Los Angles.  It was a convenient terminal (before it started growing, car rental was a convenient elevator trip down to a basement level.)  My favorite memory was takeoffs.  SNA is the middle of a highly populated area so there was a noise abatement takeoff requirement.  The pilot would rev up the engines with the brakes on,  release the brakes and you barrel down the runway, to a very steep take off, then the pilot dramatically reduced power and you quietly flew at a couple of thousand feet for a few minutes until you got over the ocean where the pilot could increase engine power to resume the take off and start to accelerate and climb.

Long Beach was a cute little airport that looked like a movie set from the 1940’s.  But it worked very well (at least going to a hub for a connection, not a trans-con flight) and the thing I remember was it was maybe a 5 minute walk from the gate to outside the terminal and the car rentals were right in front of you in the parking lot.

Going to the Bay Area you had a choice of SFO, Oakland or San Jose.  But SFO was by far the busiest. Before they built the consolidated car rental terminal, you took a bus that brought you to the various car lots.  It also brought visitors to a Hilton hotel on the airport grounds, and I remember one bus ride where passengers just boarding the bus said they had to go to the hotel, but the driver had to tell them that hotel had been torn down a few months before. He suggested they should go back in the terminal and call their travel agent to find out where their reservation was now going to be honored. My memory of Oakland was an early business trip where I had a business meeting in Oakland that ran long. I mentioned I may not make my SFO flight since that was an hour away.  They said “give me your ticket and let us check” and 10 minutes later they had me rebooked (making the same hub connection back to Newark) from Oakland—a 10 minute drive from their office. San Jose Airport had a special memory. I was waiting at the gate on a flight delay. By chance (to kill time) I called a former boss to congratulate him because he had started a new job with a new company.  Over the phone he offered me a job—which I did accept the next day!

Honolulu and the Hawaiian Islands I first visited with my wife on vacation.  We had a 9 day, 3 island “Pleasant Hawaiian Holidays with American Express” package. I remember we did as much packing and airport travel as we did sightseeing, but Hawaii is beautiful.  In those days (1982) you showed up at the Hawaiian Airlines counter, and were given a seat on the next available flight (they ran at least every hour).  Your luggage went on the next plane out (not necessarily yours) because I recall landing at each island, and all the luggage was already on the tarmac awaiting the tourists to pick them up and go to the car rental counters. One thing I recall is we had travel vouchers not airline tickets and turned them in for every flight (as we did for car rentals and hotels).

International:

Orly in Paris and Gatwick in London were, at the times I traveled, secondary airports and as such were not very crowded.  Since my only need for the airport was the airplane and the taxi, that was no problem.  I am sorry I do not have more memories of the airports themselves.

Luton Airport is about an hour outside of London and was the airport nearest to the office of a company for which I worked. I flew from Luton to Hanover Germany on a charter for a trade show.  The thing I remember most what that at Luton there was no permanent signage for each airline.  Large video screens would light up at each gate with the airline logo and name and the flight number.  It seemed like a nice way for an airport to more efficiently use gate space and not leave gates unused for hours at time.

I visited Melbourne flying Continental DC-10’s.  The 20+ hour trip  started in LAX, we flew to Honolulu, deplaned (although it was after midnight the President’s club was open) then re-boarded (a different aircraft but same flight number) to Auckland New Zealand, where we deplaned (but did not go out of arrival security) then re-boarded to go to Melbourne. (Nice pick up of miles as well as a lot of fun). The return (because I think Continental only had one or two flights a day), you had a location to wait near the gate area, then they brought out pedestals and signs, and in about 10 minutes had a very professional looking check in and gate set up. The return home flights had the same routing in reverse order.

I was able to visit Moscow managing our company’s sponsored trade show. I did fulfill a longtime ambition of departing from the famous JFK Pan Am Worldport terminal. This was 1990 and a very strange and exciting time to visit the USSR. (I was there the week Mikhail Gorbachev won the Nobel Peace Prize).  Arriving at Sheremetyevo Airport you went into a room the size of phone booth to show your passport and visa to a uniformed guard thru a window.  On the return journey I got to the airport three hours early.  Which was good because there was no such thing as a line.  Everyone was pushing in a group to get thru security (which I was told was less for checking for guns than for people trying to smuggle out artifacts). I made it thru with maybe only 25 minutes before my Pan Am flight. I saw a Duty Free shop and wanted to get two bottles of Stolichnaya Vodka to bring home. I got them, and brought them on the 747 (upper deck on a 747-100 on Pan Am had chair side storage bins).  I then carefully  carried the glass bottles thru the NYC Pan Am Worldport and thru customs and brought them home.  Just to find out how much I saved, the next day I went to the local liquor store – the identical bottles, bottled in USSR, were 50 cents cheaper in NJ!.  So much for Duty Free Shops.

I hope these memories either brought a smile to your face or brought back similar memories of travel experiences you had in the past.

I must admit I was not into photographing airports (and especially on business trips since there were no such things as cell phone cameras) so other than a few photos from the Aviation Hall of Fame of New Jersey collection, I have no photos to share.  Looking on the web for public domain or royalty free photos did find some of the airports, but the images are from today, not the terminals of thirty or more years ago.  But hopefully you have some images in your own memory that will serve you in remembering.

All photography from From Wikimedia Commons.

Written by Emma Rasmussen

In an age of endless white airline liveries (often referred to as “Eurowhite” schemes), the vibrantly colored liveries of decades past offer a louder and far-less subdued glance at airline marketing. Forgotten airlines such as AirCal and Pacific Southwest Airlines sported bright pinks,purples, yellows, and oranges in their cheat-lines throughout the 1970s and 1980s. Today,airlines tip their hats to fans of nostalgia by painting individual aircraft in their fleets to replicate
these retro schemes. However, few current liveries can compare to the vivid ones that preceded them.

Prior to the Eurowhite liveries that dominate the airline industry today, these brilliant schemes were extremely popular. Braniff International Airways, based out of Dallas Love Field Airport was hardly an exception. In 1965, Braniff introduced their “jelly bean” liveries, an array of solid-fuselage schemes that ranged from yellow to lavender, turquoise, green, blue, orange and several more. Eight years after the “End of the Plain Plane” campaign that saw this complete overhaul of the airline’s fleet, lounges, and uniforms, avant-garde artist Alexander Calder was asked to design three visually-adventurous schemes for Braniff.

Alexander Calder was an artist best known for his “mobiles,” kinetic sculptures. Alternatively, he produced paintings and miniatures. In the early 1970s, Braniff was celebrating twenty-five years of travel to South America and desired a scheme to reflect this. Alexander Calder was approached by Gordon and Shortt Advertising Agency, and was enticed by the thought of his artwork flying around the world on the largest canvas— an airliner. Calder’s first aircraft was a Douglas DC-8-62, which was painted in strictly primary colors and dubbed “With Flying Colors.” His debut livery is his most famous and appeared at the 1975 Paris Air Show.

After his success with the Douglas DC-8, Calder designed another livery for Braniff. In 1976, the United States was celebrating its 200th year, which prompted the airline to request another celebratory livery. Calder painted an abstract version of the American flag, which was transposed onto a Boeing 727-200. This second and final work of Calder’s was dubbed “Flying Colors of the United States.” On both of his aircraft, Calder’s signature is proudly displayed instead of typical Braniff branding.

Later in 1976, Alexander Calder died and ultimately put an end to the “Flying Colors” series of airline schemes. “The Spirit of Mexico” was to be his third and final work, but his passing caused the project to be scrapped. A second 727 never received this livery. In 1982, negatively affected by the 1978 Airline Deregulation Act, Braniff International Airways ceased operations. This once highly-profitable and fast-growing US airline filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy, leaving dozens of “jelly bean” airliners stranded and a colorful career behind

Notice: This article was originally published in Horizons, online student paper of Embry Riddle- Prescott.

Written by Emma Rasmussen

The airline industry of quieter engines, carbon fiber, advanced computers, and glass cockpits is a far cry from the industry that followed the Second World War. Instead, the airline industry consisted of piston-driven airliners, chrome fuselages, iconic cheatlines, and a whole lot of smoke. Enjoying economic superiority and unscathed infrastructure, the United States dominated this bygone aviation industry with the innovations that directly resulted from the war. However, the United States was not alone in recalibrating its focus on civilian aviation with newfound technology. Despite being on the mend from a tumultuous war, Britain was investing heavily in its civilian aviation sector and had successfully developed the first ever jet airliner. The sleek design of the De Havilland DH106 Comet and its quieter, more comfortable passenger experience became an attractive distinction from the noisy propellor aircraft of the era. British Overseas Airways Corporation (B.O.A.C) was keenly interested in introducing the aircraft to its fleet, and did so in 1954 with a voyage between London and Johannesburg.

Her Majesty’s pioneering aircraft, and the national prestige it attracted, was short-lived, much to the misfortune of De Havilland. Numerous hull-losses from structural failure and a flawed wing profile marred the image of Britain’s aviation industry, and the Comet subsequently lost public confidence. After design modifications to the aircraft, it quietly continued service for over a decade. Unfortunately, the British jetliner market never fully recovered as the world’s airlines opted for the American Boeing 707 and Douglas DC-8. Aviation’s so-called “jet age” came into its own shortly thereafter, with the Americans once again dominating. The British aviation industry, now largely privatized, continued to develop future jet airliners in hopes of finding their own success.

One such result of their venture was the Vickers VC-10, a handsome airliner that was the visual epitome of 1960s optimism. Unexpectedly birthed from the Vickers Valiant, a high-altitude bomber and member of the Royal Air Force’s (RAF) “V Force,” the VC-10 began its life on paper as a potential tanker, military transport, and airliner. B.O.A.C heavily invested in the program, seeking an aircraft that could serve higher, hotter, and shorter airfields for their eastern routes. The development of the VC-10 was effectively an extension of the cancelled VC-7 project, which had been in progress during the 1950s. While the VC-10 was an entirely new aircraft, much of the technology used for the VC-7 was allocated towards the alternative project.

Vickers-Armstrongs Limited undertook the VC-10 in earnest upon learning of De Havilland’s proposal to update its ill-fated Comet. Additionally, Handley Page had offered to develop an airliner based on their RAF “V Force” contribution, the Victor. Amid mounting pressures, the Vickers VC-10 prevailed over the competing propositions, as it was the only firm willing to launch the airliner privately. In 1962 the VC-10 was rolled out of the Weybridge factory in Surrey, which then went on to endure two months of ground and taxi tests, and finally made the first flight.

The final design of the VC-10 featured a swept-wing with ample surface area, a T-shaped empennage, and four rear-mounted engines in a quad layout. The T-tail provided additional lift to aid the present design’s abilities, although it increased the aircraft’s risk for deep stalls. Vicker’s concept was unique, as only two other aircraft had a similar engine configuration. The Soviet Ilyushin IL-62 was slightly larger and more widely exported, but was plagued with safety implications. Lockheed had also developed an aircraft known as the JetStar business jet with this engine configuration. Though seemingly relegated to history and largely forgotten to the rest of the world, the VC-10 became a British icon and a favorite of the RAF.

Vicker’s choice of engine placement enabled a quieter cabin, and the powerful Rolls Royce Conways satisfied the higher, hotter, and shorter airfield requirements. B.O.A.C had previously lost faith in the British aviation industry due to the countless delays surrounding the Bristol Britannia and the bad press after several fatal Comet accidents. Naturally, they were reluctant to trust the VC-10. Amazingly, B.O.A.C was impressed with the design and placed an order for 35 aircraft with options for 20 additional aircraft. Airlines from developing nations such as East African Airways and Ghana Airways saw the benefit of having the VC-10 in their fleets, thus placing their orders shortly thereafter.

Entering service with B.O.A.C by the mid-1960s, the VC-10 attained higher load factors than its American competitors, the Boeing 707 and the Douglas DC-8. As a result, the aircraft earned a positive reputation with B.O.A.C. Additionally, the engine performance and overall design significantly increased the aircraft’s range and speed. The passenger cabin was defined by a six abreast seating layout and divided by a single aisle. Depending on the variant, the aircraft could accommodate a 100-150 passenger payload. While most argue that the fastest subsonic airliner was likely the American Convair 880/990, the VC-10 is famous for holding the world record for fastest subsonic transatlantic crossing ever. In 1979, a British Airways VC-10 departed New York for Glasgow-Prestwick, arriving in 5 hours and 1 minute. Only the supersonic Concorde crossed the Atlantic faster. Shea Oakley, an expert aviation historian and Executive Director Emeritus of the New Jersey Aviation Hall of Fame, had his first ever flight on the VC-10. “The VC-10 sparked my lifelong passion for commercial flight” Shea expressed with a tinge of nostalgia.

The airliner’s success within the confines of Britain called for several variants, one of which being the Super VC-10. The aircraft became popular in B.O.A.C advertisements and was ostensibly not unlike the standard VC-10. However, the Super VC-10 had an updated wing, stretched fuselage, and an updated power plant. The Super VC-10 was in passenger service well into the 1980s, later undertaking RAF roles such as aerial refueling. B.O.A.C opened routes to South America utilizing the VC-10, though British Airways would become the successor to B.O.A.C and shut down these routes during the 1973 oil crisis. Unfortunately, the aircraft failed to break out of the apparent “British bubble,” not including a few orders from the African airlines. Nevertheless, it was a popular aircraft to fly for both the average passenger and crew member. Tony Yule, an airline veteran of 46 years and former VC-10 pilot for the RAF and B.O.A.C says as much. “It was a lovely, lovely aircraft to fly. So smooth, so quiet for the passengers. It was magic, it handled like a dream” said Tony. “If I hadn’t flown Concorde in the 80s and 90s, I would have said the most iconic aeroplane was the VC-10.”

During the 1970s, the RAF leased a single VC-10 to Rolls Royce as an engine test bed. Rolls Royce was seeking a platform to experiment with their latest engine, the RB.211. This engine was later used on more notable airliners, such as the Lockheed L-1011 Tristar and Boeing 757. There had been some consideration regarding the possibility of re-engining the VC-10. Instead of four Conway engines, the VC-10 would be updated with two RB.211 engines. The idea did not leave paper, and the aircraft was returned to the RAF. The airlines also considered hush-kitting the Conways as noise regulations evolved, but the costs were too high to justify the modifications.

By the 1980s, British Airways and the African airlines were phasing out their VC-10s in favor of other emerging airliners. The RAF purchased the retiring aircraft from the airlines, and retrofitted them to become aerial tankers or military transports. Like B.O.A.C, the RAF was attracted to the VC-10’s performance and had been operating them since the 1960s. The VC-10 would go on to serve in several missions. During the First Gulf War, several VC-10 tankers were stationed in Bahrain, Saudi Arabia, and Oman. The VC-10 participated in enforcing no-fly zones while airstrikes were being carried out over Iraq in 1998. After the September 11th attacks in 2001, the VC-10 spent the remainder of its flying career in Afghanistan. In 2013, the RAF retired their VC-10 fleet in favor of modern aerial tankers and military transports.

Like many other British airliners from the early jet age, the VC-10 is often regarded as “underrated,” and unfortunately “left in the dust” by its American counterparts. In Britain, the VC-10 is considered a piece of aviation heritage, with several on display at local air museums. At Bruntingthorpe Aerodrome, a VC-10 is maintained and in taxiable  condition. A second VC-10, the last ever to fly, is a static display. A vestige of an antiquated era, the VC-10 remains symbolic of mid-century optimism, innovation, and excellence. The VC-10 leaves behind a legacy of speedy flights, quietude and comfort, and a lustrous reflection of 1960s aeronautical design.

Notice: This article was originally published in Horizons, online student paper of Embry Riddle- Prescott