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YANKEE PHOTOGRAPHER
YANKEE
PHOTOGRAPHER
by George HL Hill
WITH PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR
Coward-McCann, Inc New York
Copyright, 1953, by George H. Hill
All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, must not be repro-
duced in any form without permission. Published simultaneously in
the Dominion of Canada by Longmans, Green if Company, Toronto.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 53-8886
MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
To my wife Doris but for whose help and in-
terest this book would not have been possible.
Illustrations
The following illustrations appear on the Endpapers:
1. CHAPTER xn The Gertrude L. Thebeaud
2. CHAPTER vni Roosevelt on private yacht
3. CHAPTER vi Dirigible towing surfboard
4. CHAPTER DC Eclipse story
5. CHAPTER vii Coast Guard rescue of Robert E. Lee
6. CHAPTER x Vermont flood
7. CHAPTER vi Runaway balloons
8. CHAPTER iv Sugaring Off in Vermont
9. CHAPTER iv Fishing for sharks
10. CHAPTER vi Plane jumper boarding submarine
Illustrations following page 88:
11. CHAPTER iv President Coolidge and Mrs. Coolidge
casting their votes
vii
12. CHAPTER VIH Nitrate ship explodes
13. CHAPTER v Airplane taking off from top of car
14. CHAPTER v Airplane in position on car
15. CHAPTER iv The DeviFs Workshop
16. CHAPTER iv President Coolidge on his farm
17. CHAPTER iv The bird that never flew
YANKEE PHOTOGRAPHER
Chapter 1
IT WAS MARCH 11, 1928 and the New England
coastline was being pounded by gale winds and snow. The
barometer had been falling for many hours and the sea-
faring old-timers on Cape Cod knew that a northeaster
had moved in with all its fury. The last glimmers of day-
light had passed hours before, for it was now about seven
o'clock in the evening and the howling winds had started
to pack the snow in drifts on the highways. The old salts
sat by kitchen stoves in their rugged Cape Cod cottages,
and as the shutters rattled and beat out their rhythmic
but mournful chorus, they thought of the men at sea fight-
ing the mountainous waves.
Then through this blinding snow and wind came the
dreaded pierce and crackle of an SOS that alerted every
Coast Guard base on the New England coast. Within five
minutes my home telephone in Boston rang and an ex-
cited voice said, "Hill, we have just received an SOS from
the S.S. Robert . Lee. She has just struck Mary Ann
Ledges near the Cape Cod Canal. Cutters are leaving
Boston now and others are being diverted to the scene
from sea. The nearest Coast Guard Station is Manomet
Point and they will put out in surfboats if the seas will
permit."
A quick look at a map and I tossed a shovel into my car
3
and along with camera equipment, overshoes and extra
warm clothes I was off on another story.
Yes, for twenty-five years I held a front row seat at the
thrilling news stories that have made your headlines.
One by one they paraded by the lens of my camera, some
in perfect weather conditions which were ideal for the
photographer, but more often in blinding snow storms or
pouring rain, when even the inventors of the modern cam-
era would shrug their shoulders and fold up. But that
isn't newspaper photography.
The cameraman knows when a big story breaks that it
is his job to get a picture on the editor's desk just as fast
as is humanly possible, and that light and weather condi-
tions are of minor importance in the mind of the editor.
To date I have never heard of a newspaper photographer
utterly failing to get a picture on any big story because of
poor light.
The news cameraman is a very peculiar fellow who acts
like any individual in ordinary life but changes immedi-
ately into a reckless daredevil who will take all kinds of
chances and perform the impossible the instant a major
news story breaks.
I have walked miles in the middle of the night battling
my way through the deep sands of a Cape Cod beach,
while a howling wintry gale drove the snow and sleet into
my face and clothing in freezing masses of liquid ice. All
during the struggle I knew that at the end of this hike I
would find a ship ashore with all kinds of picture possibil-
ities, and I could visualize the layout of pictures that I
wanted: a Coast Guard crew working with breeches buoy
rescue apparatus, or bringing the crew ashore through
high seas in lifeboats. All of which I knew would make
page one, with an eight column spread in the newspapers
all over the country.
Arriving at the wreck I would make photographs by
the light of magnesium flares or by flashpowder cartridges,
4
and if the crew were still on the wreck, it was then a mat-
ter of finding a good lofty sand dune, and huddle in on
the lee side until daylight when the Coast Guard would
take off the crew.
Then the long grind back through the deep sand to my
car and a fast hundred mile drive to Boston with the pic-
tures. Tired? No, not until the last picture had been serv-
iced to the newspapers and the negatives sent off to the
New York office, and then I would realize that I was just
about dead on my feet, my clothes and shoes were soaking
wet, along with the fact that I had not been in bed for
about thirty hours and had completely forgotten to eat
during that time.
After the story is over and the pictures are spread over
the front pages of the newspapers, the photographer gets
the proud feeling of a tough assignment well done, and he
files away in his mind another story that he will never
forget.
It was then that I would relax into a normal individual
once more, and on the way home for some rest would
often think of the dangers I had been through and shiver
when I thought what would have happened to ine if I had
dropped from exhaustion out there on that beach at night
miles from anyone, and how quickly I would have frozen
to death. But if the same story took place under the same
conditions on the next night, I would have been going
down that beach again without a thought of the dangers
that lay before me.
Story after story brought thrills and dangers, with mem-
ories that are now priceless, along with humorous episodes
and memories of the swell times I have had with veteran
competitive newspaper cameramen and newsmen who are
listed among my closest friends.
The newspaper photographer is not just "another guy
with a camera." He must have a great number of qualifi-
cations that add up to make him the professional news
5
cameraman that you see on the spot where hot news is
breaking.
First of all he must be a photographer, and a good one,
who can cover any assignment from a society wedding to
a horse race, and then call the office and add to his day's
work a general alarm fire, or a thug at Police Head-
quarters. Very few newsmen specialize in any one type of
assignment, and must have a general idea of all sports so
they are able to get a picture that is interesting for the
expert in the sport to see, and something that is also of
interest to the great "John Public" who reads the papers.
There is no time to check exposures with exposure
meters, or look up in a little book to see how fast they
must run their shutter speeds to stop the action that is
before them. Their job is to get the picture and get it
fast, and they must rely on their experience, judgment,
and knowledge of many other assignments to produce a
perfect picture.
Another must for the news cameraman is an almost
born sense of news which gives him the ability to arrive
on the scene of a big story and in a second visualize that
story in a picture. Then he must find himself a spot where
he can get a good news angle in the picture, something
that will fit into a two column cut, or a shallow eight col-
umn cut to go across the page, all depending on his judg-
ment of the story's news value while he is photographing
it.
This news ability is hard to explain, but it comes natu-
ral to some, and others never can get it. I have seen fine
photographers try to break into the news game, as we call
it, but after covering a few minor news stories they found
themselves on assignment from the Advertising Depart-
ment, making pictures of furniture for use in advertise-
ments or out working for that well known Real Estate
Department, making pictures of buildings for the same
use. Both of these departments are necessities in every
6
paper, but the top flight newsmen have very little to do
with them.
A cameraman's personality and general appearance also
play a large part in this success. He must be able to fit
himself into all kinds of occasions. On his personality de-
pends a great deal whether he gets a picture or not. He
must be able to sympathize with people who are in trou-
ble in order to get pictures that show them in their diffi-
culties, be very dignified and on the high-hat side when
he tries to talk himself into some very exclusive society
party, but at the same time be plenty tough when the story
breaks where he is covering thugs at Police Headquarters,
while their buddies are promising the photographer a
broken neck and broken legs if he makes any pictures.
Nerve is also a primary asset that must be well estab-
lished in his makeup. Nobody has much use for a timid
individual, and in news work a cameraman is called on a
great many times to climb up ladders to heights where
the ordinary fireman takes on that funny feeling, where
the shivers run up and down his legs, and travel to all
parts of his body with every step. I will never forget some
of the feelings I have had, especially on cold winter days
when the ladders were covered with ice and a hose line
was usually strapped to the center, encased in ice. I had
only one free hand to really work with, as my camera was
held in a death grip by the other hand, and from about
the middle of the ladder up, every step meant another
swing of the ladder. In some of the spots where I have
climbed I have seriously wondered if I had been hired to
be a steeple-jack or a news photographer, but I always
came back to the office with a picture that I was satisfied
was the best I could get on the story, and never with the
feeling that I could have made a better picture if I had
climbed up on some elevation.
The cameraman's camera is his working tool, and like
the carpenter, plumber or machinist his work is only as
7
good as his tools. Every cameraman has his own camera
equipment which he uses every day and he knows just
what to expect from it and knows all its little idiosyn-
crasies. Most cameras now are the property of the news-
paper which employs the photographer, but he selects the
type camera, lens equipment, flashgun and other articles
which he wants, and that is his outfit as long as he works
on that paper. The camera equipment gets some pretty
rough treatment in the regular routine of the news
cameraman. It is soaked at least twenty times a year in
everything from rain-water to chemicals from fire hoses,
along with an occasional bath in salt water spray while the
photographer is hanging onto the deck of a Coast Guard
cutter making pictures of a rescue at sea, or a complete
submersion in snow while the photographer is making
storm pictures in a howling blizzard in the winter months.
Even with this severe treatment, the photographers
take good care of their outfits. The instant the pictures
are finished the camera gets a good drying out and a clean-
ing. The average news camera lasts over ten years, and is
then turned in for new equipment.
Very few newsmen carry more than one camera with
them on a story, for the simple reason that they would not
have time to swap around and use different ones. A news-
man selects a camera that will do all kinds of photography
and do it fast, and that is the camera that he uses for all
of the regular daily assignments. Each paper has in the
office a long focus camera that is used by different photog-
raphers as they cover football, baseball and yachting, or
any story where telephoto shots are needed. Along with
this long focus camera which is known as a "Big Bertha,"
most newspapers also have in the office an aerial camera
for use on all stories covered from the air. Like the "Big
Bertha" the aerial camera is used by all the photogra-
phers.
Aerial photography is just another part of the news-
8
man's daily routine. On all stories that are of the hot news
variety and take place some distance from town, the news
editor first thinks of an air shot so that he gets a picture
back in a hurry, and one photographer is assigned to the
air while two or three more start over the road to fill in
the later editions with the ground shots.
Today aerial photography is more or less routine, but
back when I made my first flights in 1919 it was a differ-
ent story. I can remember leaving the office for a fast trip
in those days, and when I finished shaking hands with the
editor and staff I felt that I was going to my own funeral.
With some of the planes I took off in I am pretty well con-
vinced now that it was about a fifty-fifty chance. Those
were the days that were known as the "Hay Wire" days,
when the pilots made most of their own repairs, and hay
wire completed a lot of them.
News photography in general is the same the world
over, but it varies according to the type of paper for
which the photographer is covering. Some papers are
more or less conservative, and the pictures they use are of
a different type than those used by the present day tab-
loids. Many papers use a lot of picture layouts which con-
sist of four or five different pictures to tell the story,
while others only use one, regardless of how big the story
actually is.
It is relatively simple for a photographer connected
with a single paper to learn exactly the type of picture his
editor wants and with that in mind he can hit the paper
consistently with pictures that appeal to the editor and his
staff.
The news cameraman who is employed by one of the
news syndicates however, is up against an entirely differ-
ent set-up. He goes on a story alone, and he has at least a
hundred different editors to satisfy, with all kinds of
papers from the conservative to the wildest tabloids.
Along with that he has the Sunday picture page editors
9
who will expect a good layout that will be a bit different
from the ones used by the daily papers, so they can make
up a page of pictures that will not hit the presses for per-
haps ten days after the daily papers have used the story.
The large news syndicates cover the entire world, with
staff cameramen located in every country, each covering a
territory. On these men is placed a terrific responsibility,
for the reputation of the syndicate rises or falls according
to the manner in which the cameraman covers his terri-
tory when big news breaks. These men are all veterans in
the business and are on call twenty-four hours a day. They
must know their territory like a book and have personal
contacts in all parts of it so they will receive tips the in-
stant a story breaks. In most cases these men are on their
way with cameras before the home office in New York has
even heard of the story.
They must be able to estimate at once how big the story
actually is, and just about how much money they should
spend in order to rush the pictures. They must be able to
decide in an instant the fastest way to get to the location,
and know the fastest way to get their pictures back to the
home office.
It was in this news syndicate field that I spent most
of my life, and I know the feeling of responsibility the
cameraman has when he gets a flash on a big story, that
has just broken, maybe a few hundred miles from town.
He senses the tremendous competition he will have on the
story from the rival syndicates and from all the local
papers. He can almost see the teletype in the home office
pounding off miles of tape from editors all over the coun-
try with the question "When can we expect the first
pictures?"
He has sent his home office a wire "Left for to
cover expect to file first picture wirephoto in about
hours."
As he is burning up the miles in his car or flying by
10
plane to the spot, he knows his editors are getting every-
thing ready in New York to handle his first picture.
Motorcycle messengers will be at the office door, ready the
instant the picture comes out of the darkroom to rush it
to the airports, railroad stations and post offices, while a
crew of regular office men will rush it to the New York
papers.
With all this in mind you feel that the whole world
is depending on you. Your mind starts to picture other
stories like the one you are headed for, and you think out
exactly the picture you will make for the wirephoto and
what you will make to follow up after you have sent your
first shot.
Upon arriving at the scene you make a quick survey and
pick your angles for the picture, check to see if you are
ahead of competition, and then start shooting fast but
accurately.
If the story takes place in a large town, it is only natural
that you have a contact there with some portrait photogra-
pher who has a studio and darkroom where you can de-
velop and make a quick print. In a matter of minutes you
will be sending your first picture to the home office over
the studio telephone by means of modern wirephoto, with
the valuable notation on it of the other syndicates that are
on the scene. If you are able to tell your office that compe-
tition has not yet arrived, you have a beat, and the New
York office will add to the caption on the picture, "FIRST
PICTURES OF EXCLUSIVE." These will be sold
at premium prices. If other syndicates are there, mention
is made of them so the New York office knows just what it
has for competition and makes its plans accordingly.
This is newspaper photography as it is in the syndicates
today, where I think most of the glamour and thrills are.
When the syndicate photographer is not covering big
stories which, of course, do not take place every day in
every territory, he must be producing something, so he
11
goes to work on features which are used by all papers for
Sunday sections and daily picture pages.
Here again the syndicate photographer must have the
ability to know just the types of pictures that will make
good features and that will appeal to the public at large
when it sees them in the pages of its home town news-
paper.
Chapter II
THE EVER PRESENT question "How did you get
started in newspaper photography?" can be answered very
simply. It all started in 1914, with a Number Two Bulls-
eye Camera, owned and operated by my mother. As a
youngster in short pants I would watch her develop films
by the light of a little oil-burning red light on the kitchen
sink shelf.
When I was fourteen years old I began making pictures
with the same little box camera and started developing
and printing them myself. Soon I was developing and
printing rolls of film for the neighbors, and had built up
quite a business. I moved from the kitchen to a darkroom
which I built in the cellar. When I arrived home from
school I developed rolls of film I had picked up on the
way, and printed the rolls I had brought home the day
before which were now dry and ready to print.
By this time photography was in my blood and I de-
cided that when I was through school I would be a pho-
tographer. I took on a newspaper route, delivering the
morning papers throughout our neighborhood, and began
saving every cent I could make from the photographic
work I did afternoons and the paper route I had in the
morning.
It was now a case of reading photographic catalogues,
and counting my money. I soon had money saved, and
13
with a loan of twenty-five dollars from my mother and
dad, I went to a camera store and purchased my first real
camera, which was a four by five Graflex camera with
an F4-5 lens.
I was surely in business now, and I started to take all
kinds of shots. I specialized in birthday parties for young-
sters, for I could sell a print to every Mother, showing her
child at the party.
Children at play, dogs and pets, new houses, gardens,
milkmen, coalmen and even the iceman all fell prey to
my camera. In about two weeks I had made enough
money to pay off the loan from my mother and dad.
I found I was making more money in faster time with
the camera than I made developing and printing films,
so I stopped the latter and also the paper route to devote
all my spare time to camera work. I gradually began to
add to my camera equipment so I could cover inside shots.
I added a tripod, flashlamp, more plate holders, a set of
filters, and a leather case which I could carry over my
shoulder.
I was not satisfied with just getting good pictures. I
wanted to know some of the basic principles of photog-
raphy, so I started to read technical books which told me
why certain filters would give dark skies, and how differ-
ent formulae of developers would increase or decrease the
contrast of the negatives.
In High School my instructor in General Science, Mr.
A. B. Tripp, knew I was greatly interested in photography
and he gave me valuable assistance. He even gave me spe-
cial photographic problems to work out as part of my class
work and credited my marks on these problems.
By this time the camera and I were inseparable, and
on Sundays I took trips to the beaches in summer, or to
wooded areas, where I could make some good shots using
filters. I kept a notebook with, me at all times and made
notes on the exposures and types of filters I was using.
After I had developed my plates I could check back to
the notebook and tell exactly how I was doing. Each week
I tried different types of plates, different developers, and
different brands of paper for printing.
I was producing better and better pictures, and I
started to watch all the pictures in newspapers to see just
how they were posed in order to get the news angles in
my pictures.
I watched for big news stories to break and bought all
the papers to study the pictures for the angles used by the
news photographers. Whenever I heard of a big fire in the
afternoon or evening I tried to get pictures, and then com-
pared them with the pictures used by the papers on the
same fire. In that way I taught myself about news angles.
I finished my high school education a few months before
my eighteenth birthday, and proceeded to get a job the
next day working for Ralph Harris & Company, a photo-
graphic supply store in Boston. Mr. Ralph Harris soon
learned that I talked and lived photography, and he put
me behind the counter as a salesman. Here I met a num-
ber of the old-time newspaper photographers, and conver-
sations with them solved a lot of the mysteries that I
couldn't solve.
My heart and mind were set on being a newspaper
photographer. In less than a year the great influenza epi-
demic broke out in Boston, and I heard through one of
the photographers that the Boston Post was in a bad way
with their entire photo staff laid low with the dreaded
influenza.
On my lunch hour that day I climbed the two long
flights of stairs to the city room of the Boston Post and met
my first city editor. He was Eddie Dunn, a veteran, top
flight newsman. He leaned back in his chair and listened
to my story, while his sharp eyes seemed to dance and
glisten as I told him how good I was with a camera and
how sure I was that I could produce good news pictures
15
for him. He asked me a few questions, and I seemed to
have the right answers. Then came the greatest thrill of
my life.
He looked at me and said, ''Well son, if you can make
pictures the way you say you can, 111 put you on the staff,
but I never thought I'd be hiring an eighteen-year-old kid
as a staff photographer. Can you come to work this after-
noon?"
I assured him that I thought Mr. Harris would release
me for he was greatly interested in my getting ahead.
After a quick conference with Mr. Harris I was on my
way to my first newspaper job with his well-wishes.
In less than an hour I had consumed a sandwich and
was back at the Boston Post where Mr. Dunn took me
down into the large darkrooms to show me where the
stock and developers were kept, and told me to load my
camera and then report upstairs to him for my first assign-
ment.
The darkroom was so large compared to the little one I
was accustomed to working in that I thought I was in
a huge ballroom. The developer which I had mixed in
quart bottles was now in five-gallon spring water bottles,
and the half gallon hypo bath was now a huge tank hold-
ing at least twenty-five gallons. I was so thrilled that I
could hardly talk as I quickly loaded the camera and pre-
pared for my first assignment.
I went up to the city room, and Mr. Dunn called me to
his desk. He said, "Okay son, now I want you to go up on
Boston Common and get some shots on the Liberty Loan
Drive. You'll find a French tank up there that has just
come back from the war, and I want a shot on that and
anything else that you can pick up there to tell the story
on the Drive. Here's your Press Badge. Don't get nervous,
and get some good stuff."
I left the office in short order, with a firm determination
16
that nothing was going to stop me from getting 'some good
stuff/
I arrived on the Common and found the tank. Now just
what I was going to make for a picture of that tank was
my problem. I tried to visualize the type of picture I had
seen in the papers, and then I decided I would have to
put someone in the picture. I found a French soldier near
the tank, so I put him on the machine as if he were work-
ing on it and made the shot. Then I got pictures of a
group of people listening to a speaker who was talking on
the Liberty Bond Drive. I had two pictures then that I
thought might cover the story but I wanted another, so
back in my mind I remembered that the papers used a lot
of close-ups of pretty girls. I looked over the crowd and
found a pretty girl and posed a close-up of her signing a
blank to buy a bond. I got the names and then went back
to the office.
As I passed the city desk, Mr. Dunn called me and
asked me what I had made the pictures of. I told him and
he assured me that I had covered the story okay, provid-
ing my pictures were all right. Developing the negatives
was more or less a worry in a strange darkroom with de-
veloper and chemicals that I was not accustomed to, but
they were perfect, and the next morning at six o'clock I
had bought a Boston Post and viewed my first news pic-
tures in print.
I shall never forget the thrill my mother and dad got
when they saw the pictures. I know they bought at least
six copies of the paper to show their friends the pictures
their son had taken.
I got along fine on the Post, and soon found myself
being assigned to bigger stories, and out of town stories
with some of the star by-line reporters such as Hal
Wheeler, Roy Atkinson and others who were top men on
the paper.
I began to get a yearning for a chance at a paper that
had a Sunday rotogravure section, where I felt my pic-
tures would get a better spread. Within a year the oppor-
tunity came my way and I joined the staff of the Boston
Herald- Traveler.
My pictures began appearing in the Sunday Herald
roto section carrying my by-line, giving me prestige that
I needed. I worked hard to get good interesting layouts
and kept Jean Stimmel, the roto editor, well supplied
with a variety of good, well lighted pictures covering
sports, features, society, and unusual angle shots on news
stories, all of which were making the roto section con-
sistently, with my by-line. These were made as extra shots
I picked up during my regular routine of news coverage
for the daily paper.
In early November of 1919, my by-line roto pictures
paid off, for I got the break then that I have always fig-
ured was responsible for my crashing into the national
photo syndicate field.
The Curtiss Wright Company, then operating two
small planes, Curtiss JN4's, in the New England states,
wanted to get some publicity. One of their officials had
seen a number of my pictures in the Herald "roto" and
called me on the phone to inquire if I would drop in at
his office and talk with him about an airplane proposition
he had in mind.
I called on him and he laid his cards on the table. He
told me he wanted some publicity for the Curtiss Wright
Company and was willing to let me fly in one of their
planes, free of charge, on any story that I would select. I
could make all the photographs from the plane that I
wanted to, so long as the caption for the pictures carried
the line, "Taken from a Curtiss Wright Plane," when
they were printed. In a split second I assured him he had
closed a deal, for I realized an air picture of any worth-
while event would make a page one news picture.
18
In those days, airports were almost unheard of and
the plane I was to fly in was based in a farmer's mowing
field in Bedford, Massachusetts, about fifteen miles from
Boston.
Back in the office it was now my problem to figure the
ideal story to cover from the air. All types of stories went
through my mind, but suddenly I thought of the Harvard-
Yale game, one of the big football games of the year. This
game was scheduled to be played the latter part of the
month, and as far as I knew, no pictures had ever been
made from the air of a major football game. This seemed
to be a natural.
Not thinking about the fact that I had never been in a
plane before, or the difficulties I might meet up with, I
rushed up over the stairs to the city room and promptly
went into a huddle with Bill Fitzpatrick, the city editor
of the Traveler the evening paper of the Boston Herald-
Traveler. He listened for a minute and then took me into
the office of the managing editor. The door was closed,
the idea was unfolded, and accepted as a grand possibility
for the Traveler to get a clean "scoop" on the Harvard-
Yale game.
They would use the picture in a half page cut on page
one but there was just one little hitch, that little thing
called time. The game started at one-thirty P.M. and the
deadline for a picture to be in the engraver's hands was
three P.M. It meant flying over the stadium, getting the
picture and flying back to Bedford, fifteen miles from
Boston; landing and rushing the picture over the road,
developing and printing it all in one and a half hours. In
the best of conditions this was close time if everything
worked out perfectly.
Not to be licked at this stage of the game I came up
with a quick idea of making a parachute, in which to drop
the plate holder from the airplane near the stadium, have
a taxi waiting there with a reporter to chase the parachute
as it floated down, and rush it to the office where a photog-
rapher would be waiting with developer in a tray ready
to put it through in the fastest possible time.
That met with the approval of the editors. Not only
would they furnish a taxi at the stadium, but they would
have two so that in the event the parachute landed on
either side of the stadium the area would be covered.
They would assign Al Brust, one of the photographers, to
the office end of the assignment, ready to rush the plates
through the developer the instant they arrived at the
office.
A final check with the Curtiss Wright Company and
everything was agreed on, but it must be kept absolutely
secret. I had about two weeks to make a parachute that
was fairly certain to open, and figure out some way of box-
ing in my camera to keep the wind from tearing it open
when I made the pictures. As the plane was an open cock-
pit biplane, it meant I would have to expose the camera
to the full slipstream of the propeller every time I made
a shot.
The building of the parachute was a cut and dry
process, to get the chute to open and come down slowly
enough to insure a light impact with the ground, and at
the same time not float so slowly that it would drift miles
before landing, as every minute of drift meant time and
distance that the taxis would have to travel to get it,
A cruise through second-hand camera stores produced a
hard leather carrying case just big enough to carry the
plate holder, with some soft packing around it. It must be
remembered here that in those days we used glass plates
and a sharp jolt would spell doom to all our prepared
plans.
The parachute had to have many tests, and I climbed
to the top of a high building in my neighborhood at least
a dozen times making small alterations on the chute after
each descent until I finally pronounced it perfect.
20
The camera was my next problem, as the metal flap,
which protects the lens on all Graflex cameras, had to be
removed. I knew that focusing through the hood was an
impossibility, as the wind would tear the hood out of the
camera. On a good clear day, with the camera mounted on
a tripod, I focused the camera on infinity (which is any-
thing beyond a distance of 100 feet), being very accurate
in all my moves. Then with a steel drill, I drilled a small
hole through the wooden box and into the brass focusing
rack. With a tap I threaded the brass rack and then put a
machine screw through the wood into the brass rack and
made the focusing absolutely solid. The camera was now
focused on infinity and set so that it could not be moved.
After this was completed I made a final check, using a
strong magnifying glass to be sure the infinity focus was
wire sharp.
A generous supply of adhesive tape kept the hood of
the camera from opening, and another strip along the four
sides of the lens board made sure that the camera and lens
didn't part company while I was over the stadium. The
final touch was the heavy leather strap that I had used
years before on my paper route. This strap went through
the handle of the camera, and over my right shoulder,
across my back, and under my left arm back to the cam-
era. This made the camera and me inseparable.
Everything was now ready and I had about four days to
wait and sweat it out. It all had to be kept absolutely
secret, without even the photographer who was to develop
the plates knowing what was to be on them. The taxis
were hired in advance for simply a trip to the stadium and
return, and the two reporters who were to ride the taxis
and write a story of their part in the stunt were assigned
but not told what the story would be. A large car was
hired to drive the pilot and me to Bedford where the
plane would be ready.
The day before the flight I signed releases with the
Curtiss Wright Company, clearing them of all responsibil-
ity in the event I was killed on the trip. With all the wor-
rying that my parents were doing, and the editors asking
me if I still wanted to go through with it, I felt when I
went to bed on Friday night like a man who would wake
up the next morning for his execution. I was only nine-
teen years old and rather young to sever my ties with this
great world, but it was my chance and I was going to take
it.
Saturday arrived and at eight o'clock in the morning I
walked in the office door to be met by the city editor. He
escorted me into an office and told me a sad story. The
owners of the paper had talked with their Legal Depart-
ment and had been advised they would be responsible in
the event I was killed, so as sorry as he was, one of the
greatest stunts the paper had tried to pull was just plain
cancelled. This was the straw that almost broke the cam-
el's back.
I took a piece of paper out of his desk, tossed it into a
typewriter, and typed out a statement saying I was taking
a day off that day and was not then in the employ of the
Boston Herald-Traveler as I was flying over the Harvard
Stadium to make some pictures, agreeing to sell the
Traveler a picture exclusive for one dollar, and then I
signed the document with a reporter as a witness. A quick
call to the Legal Department and the stunt was on again,
with the agreement that I could sell pictures to any of the
other papers for use the next morning.
With a handshake and an assurance that everyone
would be at his post, I left to pick up the pilot, Tom
Potter, and then drove onto the mowing field in Bedford
where the plane was ready for the take-off.
It was a perfect day. By this time I was simply thinking
of getting the pictures and had no fear at all. When we
arrived at the field in Bedford I got my first look at the
plane as it sat in the tall grass. (When I visualize that
scene now and remember the appearance of that plane
as it sat there, thirty years ago, and then look at one of the
present planes, I realize the tremendous strides that have
been made in aviation during this time.) It was a Curtiss
JN-4, known to the pilots as a Gannuck, a double seated
biplane with my seat in front of the pilot. From my posi-
tion the lower wing cut off the visibility of the ground as
I looked straight down. This meant every time I shot a
picture I would have to lean out of the cockpit and shoot
back in order to clear the lower wing. I got into the plane
and made a few practice moves, so I could adjust the strap
that went over my shoulders and through the handle of
the camera.
It was now one o'clock and we had to get into the air.
The motor started a couple of times, coughed and
stopped, and finally started to run in a real businesslike
fashion.
Inside my overcoat pocket I had tucked the parachute.
The case that was to hold the plate holder and float to
earth on the parachute was pushed loosely inside my over-
coat on the left side, and a loaded magazine carrying
twelve plates was tucked inside my overcoat on the right
side. A piece of rope was tied around my waist to keep the
articles from falling through. The Graflex camera was in
my lap with the plate holder that was to make the descent
securely fastened to it. From this description you can
imagine that I had about as much room to work in as a
passenger on a crowded subway train during the rush
hours.
By now the pilot was jazzing the motor to check it.
Finally he throttled it back, tapped me on the shoulder,
and told me to keep my safety belt fastened until we were
clear of the field. Also to let him know when we got over
the stadium if I was at the right height by holding my
hand level; if we were too high I was to point down; and
if too low to point up. When I was ready to shoot, I was
to hold my arm up, and he would bank the ship so I
could get more visibility around the lower wing.
A nod of my head gave him an okay, and the motor
began to roar. We bumped and bounced and finally the
plane began to ride easier and I saw the ground start to
leave us. We were airborne and I was on my first flight,
and my first big stunt.
I looked over the side a minute, and then got my mind
on my camera. I checked everything, lens aperture, shut-
ter curtain, and made sure the plate holder latch was in
place and tight. Then I settled down to enjoy the ride. I
looked forward and the engine was so close it seemed to
be almost in my lap. I watched each of the valve rods and
rocker arms as they opened and closed in rapid succession,
and then I leaned over to see how much I was going to see
behind the lower wing. When my head cleared the little
windshield the wind was terrific. I made up my mind then
and there that I would have to take a good husky grip on
the camera when I pushed it out into that stream of air,
so I tightened the strap a couple more notches. This
would allow me to keep the camera tight on the strap
and avoid some camera movement.
We were now over Harvard College and I could see the
stadium straight ahead with the Charles River winding
alongside it on two sides. I looked for the two bright yel-
low taxicabs with the white crosses of adhesive tape on
their tops to identify them. I quickly spotted them, one
on each side and well out in the clear. The game had just
started and the stadium was a black sea of humanity, with
every seat filled. On the playing field I could see the uni-
formed players and referees in white.
This was it! Was I going to put the stunt across or
would I forget to pull out the holder slide? Would the
exposure be right? Everything flashed through my mind.
I turned to the pilot, signaled the height was perfect and
pointed to the left as he was too close, for I wanted to be
sure I got the entire stadium in the picture. I had no view-
finder on the camera and it was a case of just plain point.
We were now in position and I held up my hand for
the pilot to bank the ship for the first shot. I leaned out
and shot the first picture on one side of the holder, slid
back into my seat, changed the holder over to the other
side, pulled out the slide and signaled for another shot.
He banked the ship again and I made the second shot.
Now for a quick job of getting the leather case out of
my coat, putting the holder in it, snapping the parachute
onto the case, and tossing it over, and waiting. I started to
make the change but I was so cramped for space with the
camera in my lap that I could hardly move my arms to
get the case out of my coat. I finally got the leather case
free of my overcoat, and I put it under my chin to hold it
while I reached inside my overcoat with my left hand to
get the parachute out of my inside pocket.
An airpocket, a bump of the plane, and my head jerked
back releasing the case, and out over my head past the
pilot and the tail section went the leather case that was
to carry the plate holder to the ground. This left me with
nothing but the parachute and the holder. I tore off a
couple of extra strips of adhesive tape that were on the
camera, taped the shroud lines of the parachute onto the
holder and wrapped it all together. I knew now that
the chute would drift a lot farther with its load lightened,
as the missing case weighed over a pound.
I motioned the pilot to head up into the wind and we
went about a mile, where I tossed out the package. It was
now in the lap of the gods, and all I could do was hope.
The chute opened perfectly, and the holder was hanging
gracefully under it. I could see the taxis start to move, and
follow along close to each other under the precious pack-
age. We were circling around over it and it seemed as
though it would never reach the ground. It was getting
closer and closer to the Charles River. The men were
leaving the taxis now and running along the grass plots
that lined the river. It seemed that they must be able to
reach it, but then I recognized Walter Meyers, one of the
reporters, running across the bridge to the other side of
the river. In the center of the bridge he stopped and held
up both arms to us and I knew that meant the chute had
settled into the middle of the river and had sunk, just in
front of the Weld Boathouse.
I looked at the pilot and his face was reflecting my ex-
pression. There was only one more thing to do. I had a
plate magazine in my coat with twelve loaded plates ready
to shoot. I held it up for the pilot to see and motioned for
a quick turn around the stadium. In a slight bank we
made a circle around the stadium as I shot four exposures
and then pointed to the pilot to head back to Bedford.
Tom set the ship's nose for a bee-line to Bedford and in
a short time I could see the T on the ground, easily iden-
tifying it as our landing field.
In a matter of seconds we were in over the field and
bumping along its rough surface in a perfect landing. The
instant the motor stopped we jumped out of the plane
and into the fast car that had taken us to the airfield.
Breaking every speed law that was ever written we
raced over the road direct to Boston and rushed into the
city room just as the taxi-borne reporters were telling the
city and managing editors the disaster that had overtaken
the parachute. The plates that I had with me were rushed
through, and the Traveler that afternoon carried a half-
page cut on page one of the airview of the Harvard-Yale
game, the first aerial picture ever made of a major football
game.
The picture carried a by-line with my name and also
a cut-line story mentioning it was taken from a Curtiss
Wright plane piloted by Tom Potter. This was followed
up the next morning by the Boston Herald using a signed
story of my experiences over the stadium that day.
26
I rushed prints from the best negative to different New
York photo syndicates. As I have mentioned before it was
here that I got my break, and got into national news syndi-
cate photography.
The Xew York Times had just started a national news
syndicate known as Wide World Photos. They used the
air shot of the game in the syndicate and sent me a check
for one hundred dollars for the picture, which was my first
big money. Along with their check they sent me a letter
asking me to submit pictures to them on news and features
which I covered in my regular routine on the Herald-
Traveler. Soon I was not only selling them large numbers
of picture stories, but I was receiving many assignments
to cover for them in my spare time. In less than three
months from the time I sold them my aerial Harvard-Yale
game picture I received a wire from Mr. Charles M.
Graves, managing editor of the Times-Vfide World Syndi-
cate, asking me to come to New York at his expense for a
conference. As a result of that conference I became New
England manager of the Wide World Photos Syndicate,
with an unlimited expense account and a free hand to
cover all news and feature stories in the New England
territory and the block of Canada north of New England.
I could hardly believe it myself, as it had been my
ambition as a youngster to get in newspaper photography.
At nineteen years of age I was in news photography of the
biggest kind, covering for a national news syndicate that
was supplying the largest newspapers in the world with
my pictures. I had gone a long way in a short time,
through hard work and the good breaks that I was lucky
enough to get.
Chapter ill
THE TWENTY-FIVE YEARS from 1919 to 1944
which I spent shooting a camera for Wide World Photos
I shall never forget. On almost any subject that can be
brought up regarding happenings in the New England
territory I can say, "Yes, I covered that, and had a front
row seat when all the action took place."
I have been in everything from a captive balloon a thou-
sand feet in the air, to a submarine going along a hundred
feet under water. Fires, floods, explosions, accidents or
weddings have all been part of a day's work to me. Some
were interesting while others were gruesome, boring or
humorous. I have been invited to cover many stories, have
received fancy press ribbons that allowed me to go any-
where, and along with them a card inviting me to a dinner
at the Press Table. But on other stories guards have been
posted to keep me out. As all good newspaper photogra-
phers say, "We've been insulted by experts, thrown out of
some of our very best places, but we've always come back
to the office with a picture."
At many social functions where photographers were
barred from the scene, and I was able to work my way by
the guard disguised as a guest, I would make pictures with
a small pocket camera having a fast lens. After the pic-
tures were published, I would usually get a telephone call
from the committee in charge of the function telling me
of the fine picture I was able to get, and asking if they
might buy some of them. This would take place after they
had gone to the extremes of posting guards to keep all
photographers out and doing everything in their power to
stop the pictures.
Mentally the news cameraman is just as human as any
other individual. I have covered stories where I almost
hoped the pictures would be a failure, for I knew if they
were used they would be embarrassing to the family of
the person I was photographing.
Many of the court cases, especially divorce suits where
the evidence drags the mother or father through the mud,
is in my opinion not the type of picture to splash on page
one of the home town paper.
But the more mud and filth that is turned over in the
trial, the better the news story. Soon enough of it is
brought to light and a photographer is assigned to court
to cover the case. I don't think there is a photographer
living who enjoys covering this type of story, or who gets
a thrill out of publicizing some poor souls who are already
up to their necks in trouble.
This, my dear readers, is not the fault of the newspaper
editor who assigns the photographer to the story or the
photographer who makes the picture, but purely and
solely the fault of the good old American public which
seems to love to read all the inside information on a good
spicy divorce. It should be remembered that the type of
story and picture used by a newspaper are the kind that
the editor of that newspaper knows his reading majority
wants. The editors keep a close watch on the circulation
figures, and if a series of spicy stories brings up the circu-
lation you can be fairly sure that more and more of them
will appear on the pages of the paper.
A smart lawyer who is handling a case which he knows
is bait for the newspapers should go out of his way to be
friendly with the newsmen covering the case, and if the
woman involved is a decent person but through some cir-
cumstance got mixed up in the trouble, the chances are
that the photographers will not break their necks to get
pictures.
I have even known photographers to go to the extremes
of telling the lawyer a way of getting out of court with
his client, so that the photographers would be covering
another door and no pictures would be made on the story.
The reverse of this happens however when the wise-guy
lawyer appears at court and proceeds to tell his client that
the newsmen are a bunch of punks but he will get him
out so no pictures will be made. It is a very good bet that
the client of that lawyer never believed so many pictures
could be made of him or her, for every door will be cov-
ered and the photographers will all agree to work on a
cooperative basis, which means if one gets the picture he
will see that all the others get prints. In this way all angles
can be covered and every photographer will use every
trick he knows to get the shots.
One of the stock tricks that brings pictures about
ninety-nine percent of the time is one that I have used
many times myself in order to get pictures that I really
wanted. The woman in a sensational case is allowed to
leave the courthouse. On the street she feels that every-
thing is fine, and that the photographers are not on her
story. As soon as she leaves the building and is on her way,
a photographer follows along about ten feet behind her.
With his camera at eye-level, all focused, he calls, "Oh,
Mrs. Jones/' or whatever her name may be. The lady, of
course, turns around to see who is calling, looks right into
the lens of the camera, and then it's just like shooting a
sitting duck.
Another one o the stock tricks is accomplished with
the assistance of a reporter who stands in front of the
courthouse with a newspaper open in front of him, read-
ing. The photographer is close to him with his camera
30
focused in back of the paper, through a hole in the paper
the size of the camera lens. For the person coming out of
court it looks innocent enough for two men to be standing
on the sidewalk reading a newspaper. The reporter looks
over the top oi the paper and when the victim is on the
spot where the camera is focused he simply says "shoot"
and the picture is in the bag.
On some of the Criminal Court cases w r here real thugs
are involved we have had plenty of trouble getting pic-
tures. Most of the real tough ones came during the pro-
hibition era. The rum runners who operated in gangs
would stand around outside the court and warn us that
we would hit the dust the instant we started to take any
shots of their buddy who had run afoul of the law. We had
to get shots, so it was a case of shoot and either run or start
swinging a good healthy right with a camera wrapped up
in it. A good* well-placed swing landing a ten-pound cam-
era on a thug's head usually took a lot of steam out of
them, but in many cases where we were greatly outnum-
bered it was a case of a quick shot and then a sprint to the
office.
I have seen some of the tough boys take a newsman's
camera and smash it to bits on the curbstone. To my
pleasure I have seen the same fellow a few days later, in
court, pay the price of the camera plus a fine and court
charges.
In my judgment it is always better for anyone mixed
up in a court case to willingly pose for a picture, as it is
always a better looking picture than one that is kidnapped
by the photographer as the victim tries to hide his face or
pull a hat down over his eyes. Any of these pictures, show-
ing the persons trying to cover their faces, gives an appear-
ance of guilt when produced in newspapers while a good,
posed picture with a smile looks much better and at least
gives the impression that they are not trying to cover any-
thing.
31
The police give perfect cooperation in most cases, so
that the photographers can get shots of criminals that have
just been arrested. It is a big help to them to have the
photographers get pictures, for after they are printed,
readers of the papers can recognize the criminal and in
many cases crimes are solved by printing of the criminars
picture in the papers.
Cheese cake photography is another type of picture that
seems to have the reading public baffled. "Why so many
pictures of bathing girls?"
We have had everything from a Rose Bowl Queen to a
Roller Towel Queen, and I can almost guarantee that if
the manufacturer of collar buttons would produce a pic-
ture of a beautiful, well-built blonde, in a scanty bathing
suit holding a large collar button in her hand, she would
appear in newspapers from coast to coast with a caption
under the picture stating she had just been selected as
"National Collar Button Queen/' Here again the editors
use them to please their reading public. It must not be
forgotten that the man of the house buys the newspaper
in most cases and brings it home to his wife and family
who read it after he has finished it on the way home.
Most men like to look at pretty girls, and while a number
of them will not admit it, a shapely girl in a scanty bath-
ing suit catches more than just a casual glance.
All of these pictures of the pretty girl type make excel-
lent "fillers'* and cuts are made of them to hold in the
make-up room until the time comes when a two column
cut is needed to fill space on a day when news is slow. A
cut of a pretty girl or some other feature picture may wait
in the niake-up room for months until the time is right
and then it appears. Pictures of hot news must be used at
once, and anything that is left over is just discarded, as it
would be old stuff if used the next day. Features are of
great value to the editor for that very reason. He must
have pictures ready on the make-up bank which he can
3*
use any time to fill in a vacant space. Features and pretty
girls are not dated and are just as good if used within a
reasonable period of time.
Fires are always sure shots for the photographer but
make difficult subjects because of smoke and steam. Wind
plays tricks with smoke and often blankets the best shots
so it is impossible to get the action on account of the
smoke. Some of the best fire shots are made after the
photographer has waited perhaps ten minutes in low
hanging smoke, all set for a shot, and then a puff of wind
will lift the smoke and clear it for a few seconds, allowing
the alert photographer just enough time to shoot his
picture.
On some fires where large areas are covered by the
flame, the airplane is the best method of coverage, but
flying in small planes over a big fire area gives plenty of
thrills, for the plane is thrown around in the air like a
ping pong ball on a table. Every time the plane hits an
updraft of hot air from the fire it skyrockets up and then
it is a case of circling again to get a close-up shot from
another angle. I have flown over forest fires when I
thought the plane would burn before we got through the
clouds of smoke and red hot flying embers which seemed
everywhere even at a thousand feet elevation.
Forest fires are the most dangerous of all to cover. At
least, I have had my narrowest escapes from them. It is
usually a case of leaving the main roads, going into the
woods to get pictures of the fire, and picking an opening
or a house far in the woods which seems sure of falling
prey to the flames. I would pick a location and get set
waiting for the fire to reach the area where I planned my
shots. Smoke driving before the fire is usually so thick
that it is hard to tell exactly where the actual front of the
fire is coming, and if great care is not taken the sides may
close in around you, and you find yourself surrounded by
fire. On two different fires I have had to drive out of a
33
narrow road through fire on both sides. Both of these
times I had figured the head of the front was at a spot
where I was waiting for it to jump the road, but found
that the ends had gained on the middle and both ends
jumped the road before the middle had reached it.
Fire wardens often start backfires at a main road, and
if they do not know that a photographer is in the woods
getting pictures, the backfire will be started. In a short
time you find a good fire behind you while you are still
waiting for the main fire to reach you in the opposite
direction. After a few experiences covering forest fires
you know the dangers and treat them with a lot of respect
and plenty of caution.
Marine stories have always been my favorites for
they make good picture material. I like the water and
have covered all the International Fishermen's Races off
Gloucester, Massachusetts, and Halifax, Nova Scotia. They
lend themselves to good picture possibilities. By the
proper use of filters and telephoto lens, excellent pictures
can be made, and every assignment means a good day on
the water. High winds and rough weather mean more
action in the pictures, and as I have never been a victim
of seasickness, the rougher it gets the better I like it.
Of the different sports, I like football and track meets
for pictures. Football gives good picture studies of long
runs when covered from the top of the stadium with a
telephoto lens, as each player can be seen close to the play
and from a good picture, the fans can see how it was possi-
ble for the player to make his run. In covering football
the ball must be shown in the picture, so it is a case of
watching the play closely through the camera and tripping
the shutter the instant the ball is visible.
Track meets with the hurdles and dashes make good
shots of action and facial expressions. Pole jumps and high
jumps give good opportunities for low angle shots that
34
amplify the actual height of the athlete as he clears the
bar.
Winter keeps the news photographer busy covering win-
ter sport carnivals such as the Dartmouth Winter Carni-
val, which is one of the outstanding events of the winter
here in New England. Along with the carnivals come the
ski jump and ski racing meets, all of which make fine pic-
tures but in most cases are made in severely cold weather.
Cold weather is a challenge to the news photographer, for
in many cases the camera starts to do queer things. The
shutter speed may be set at high speeds but the instant it
is released the well trained ear of a newspaperman will
sense trouble. His camera is so cold that the tension on
the springs, along with contracting metal, has changed
the entire shutter speed. If the camera is taken indoors
to warm up, the lens steams and tends to give him more
trouble, so the camera is usually given a good check-up
before it gets into cold weather. It is a great thrill to
stand under the take-off lip of a ski jump and make shots
of the jumpers as they sail over your head like eagles in
space.
Winter mountain climbing is rugged work for the
photographer, but has good opportunities for pictures. I
have climbed Mt. Washington twice in winter and as far
as I am concerned that is enough. I shall never forget the
trip I made up the mountain through the South Chimney
of Huntington Ravine with Professor Odell and a group
of Harvard students from the Harvard Mountaineering
Club. When we got well up into the South Chimney the
students proceeded to tie themselves at intervals on a long
rope, with Professor Odell at the lead. Each student car-
ried a Swiss ice axe, and wore alpine crampons, which are
long steel spikes fastened into the soles of their shoes. I
was carrying a case on my back loaded with extra plates
and photographic material which I needed on the trip,
35
along with a Graflex camera in my hands. Without a rope
tied to me I seemed all alone, and more or less blushed
as I looked at my feet to view the fifty-cent pair of ice
creepers strapped to my shoes. I had to be alone and some
distance off from the group in order to get the pictures
of the students climbing up through this solid mass of
slippery ice formations on the side of the mountain. Once
in a while I took a look down below me and got a funny
feeling as I witnessed the nice icy chute the chutes I was
climbing on and nothing below me for over a thousand
feet. The professor finally called to me and told me he
was getting a little nervous about me. He told me to
spread eagle with my arms and legs in the event I slipped.
I made the trip, taking advantage of the holes cut in the
ice ledges by the students, and again I guess I had a rab-
bit's foot in my pocket for I returned with some good pic-
tures and no mishaps.
Chapter IV
WHILE THE COVERAGE of feature stories may seem
like very tame assignments to the novice, a died-in-the-
wool cameraman gets a great kick out of features, for it is
in this type of coverage that he is able to really do his stuff.
Nine out of ten features are the result of the photogra-
pher's own news sense, where he sees something that is a
little bit odd or different, and decides that in a series
of photographs he can use different angles. By working
in close-ups he can build it up to an interesting story which
will be suitable for a full page of pictures.
Features are an absolute necessity to all newspaper
editors for it is only on very few days of the week that the
editor has national news pictures enough to fill his paper,
and he must constantly rely on feature pictures to fill in
the gaps. The picture pages are a steady drain on the
features that the editors have in reserve, and the national
news syndicates are always on the alert for good feature
material to supply the ever present demand.
Seasonal features must be watched carefully by the
syndicate photographer so that the home office has pic-
tures in time to get them out for the different seasons of
the year.
Around October the syndicate photographer looks
around for a good toy factory that is busy getting out or-
ders for the Christmas trade. Every year I covered a toy
37
layout and captioned it "Santa Glaus at work for the
youngsters at Christinas/ 7 These pictures showed the toys
as they started along the assembly line of a factory, girls
painting the faces on dolls, one general view of many
different types of toys, a shot of the final painting of
wooden toys, and always a small child with an armful of
the finished toys, to finish the layout. Along with this set
of pictures was a cut-line story, telling the number of toys
that was now in production for the Christmas trade and
anything new in the line of toys for that year. The series
would be sent to New York and released from the home
office over the national syndicate around the middle of
November, giving the editors time to make up and use
them during the early part of December.
September was the month we always started to look
around for a Thanksgiving Day feature. This usually con-
sisted of a series made at a turkey farm showing flocks of
turkeys, along with a close-up of one big turkey, and a
good human interest picture of a little boy carrying a tur-
key on his back with an axe in his hand, or a pretty girl
sharpening an axe on an old-fashioned grindstone while
a turkey was perched alongside her. This layout also re-
quired a turkey dinner at my house in September for I
had to have, a cooked turkey for pictures. After the turkey
was cooked, I usually made a picture of an elderly lady
at the oven with the door open taking out the turkey and
some little youngster all smiles, looking at the huge
nicely browned bird. Then a close-up of the youngster
with a napkin tucked into his collar and a big smile as he
takes a man's size bite out of one of the legs. Either of the
last two pictures would be suitable for a half-page picture
on Thanksgiving morning. This turkey layout was always
in the hands of the editors at least three weeks before
Thanksgiving in order to give them time to plan their
papers.
Plymouth, Massachusetts, was always on the job just
38
before Thanksgiving with their publicity men, notifying
all newspapers that they were re-enacting the first Thanks-
giving with the Pilgrims and Indians and would cooper-
ate in every way possible to give the photographers any
type of picture they desired. For years I covered this
advance Thanksgiving and had the pictures in time for
the papers to use the "First Thanksgiving" along with
present day pictures I had made and sent out.
Early spring meant a layout which could be used for
Easter. This was always a trip to a good florist's green-
house where a mass of Easter lilies could be shown in one
picture, and then a pretty girl with her head framed in
Easter lily blooms. There was usually a shot in a church
with a close-up of a vested choir singer and lily blooms in
the background.
Early spring also meant a spring fishing layout made in
a stocked pond of a sporting club which was free from the
state fishing laws. In this way I could always take a model
to the pond and get shots of her fishing, and close-ups of
her holding her fish, long before the fishing season
opened. The pictures would be on the editors' desks for
use the day the law opened the fishing season.
Summer and the art colonies went hand in hand, and
were always good for some nice trips, getting layouts on
the artists painting scenes on the wharves at Province-
town on Cape Cod, at the picturesque lobster and fishing
towns of Tenants Harbor, Port Clyde, and Martinsville
on the Maine coast.
Mother's Day called for a picture of a typical mother,
in a pose that would be emblematical of everyone's
mother. At the start of World War II, I posed a Mother's
Day picture which was used widely across the country.
This picture, made at night, showed an old-fashioned
lamp in a window made of small panes of glass, and in the
window was the typical mother with the curtain pulled
back as she hung a service star against one of the panes.
39
The lighting from the lamp and the side lighting from
inside the room gave the picture the atmosphere I was
trying to carry out. After the war was over I made a Moth-
er's Day picture, showing a typical mother opening the
front door of her home and seeing a large box of flowers
resting against the door casing. Behind the door, hiding,
was a service man in uniform peeking around the door
to see the expression on his mother's face as she saw the
flowers, and waiting to give her the final surprise of his
own first appearance back from the war. Both of these
Mother's Day pictures were used widely because they
were not only Mother's Day pictures, but they carried
with them the feeling of the times.
Features can be covered with just one picture where
camera angle and lighting will make it, or they can be
layouts which are a series of pictures with plenty of thrills.
I remember a feature story I covered in winter on the
top of Cannon Mountain in New Hampshire which
ended with plenty of thrills and sent several members of
the party to the hospital before it was over. Jake Coolidge,
one of the best known veteran newsreel cameramen in
the country, called me one day in the early part of the
winter and said he was planning to make a feature on the
"Old Man of the Mountain," and asked me if I wanted
to go along on the story. The "Old Man" is a natural stone
face on the top of Cannon Mountain. It had just been
braced by huge iron rods to keep it in place as the winter
ice and frost had started to move some of the huge boul-
ders that made up the face. I thought it would make a
good story, showing how the Old Man looked after he
had his face lifted, and showing from the top of the head
what the Old Man saw in winter.
Bill MacDonald, a star writer of the Boston Transcript^
was going along on the story to write a full page feature,
and he wanted to use a layout of my pictures to illustrate
his story. We planned just about every picture we would
40
make on the way up, and on arriving were met by a guide
and two young fellows who went along to help carry the
movie equipment, and pose for any pictures that we
wanted on top of the head of the Old Man. In order to get
on the head we had to climb up a trail to the top of the
mountain and then come down part way. It was a mild
day when we arrived at the base of the mountain, with
good clear air and plenty of snow on the ground. The best
view we could get of the old stone face from the base was
close to Profile Lake. We decided we would get a good
telephoto shot of the head as it appeared from the base
before we started up the trail, so we picked our location
and made the shots. Jake Goolidge, who was shooting the
story for Pathe Newsreel, agreed to stay at that location
and when we got up on top of the head he was to make
his movies with a long focus lens. I left him a Graflex
camera of mine with a telephoto lens on it, and he was
to shoot a couple of shots with my camera showing the
group when we finally got up on top. We were dressed
for the trip, or at least had plenty of warm clothing for
the kind of day it was, when we started up. I had another
Graflex camera and a carrying case on my back with extra
plates in it for use on the top.
We started up the trail* It was very calm and fairly
warm with the temperature just about at the freezing
mark. The guide led the procession up the mountain
Bill MacDonald of the Boston Transcript, a young cam-
eraman for Pathe Newsreel who was making the shots for
Jake Coolidge on top of the head, two young fellows who
were to help out and pose for pictures on top, and myself.
As we progressed along the trail it got steeper and steeper.
We slowed up some as the equipment we were carrying
seemed to get heavier with every step we took. Close to
the timber line we found a boiling spring and stopped
to rest while we had a drink of water. By this time almost
anything was an excuse to stop and rest a minute.
41
Leaving the timber line, we started up over the barren
rocks. The going was slower all the time as the rocks were
covered with ice and snow and the trail was just about
lost. We had to get on top of the head to make the pic-
tures while we had good light, and then get back down
to the base before it was dark. With this in mind we
started to push along faster, although the going was get-
ting tough. I noticed that a slight breeze appeared to be
coming up, and the air seemed to start taking on a bite,
but I figured this was the natural thing to expect at the
altitude we were now in. At the top we stopped and got
down behind some big boulders to rest for a few moments
before starting down the other side to the top of the head.
We knew Jake was at the bottom with his eyes glued to
the old man's head, waiting for us to make our appear-
ance. In about ten minutes we were there and had made
a couple of pictures when I noticed a dark cloud coming
our way and a bad looking sky.
The guide, who knew the territory like a book, saw
what was about to happen and immediately called us to
start back up to the top at once. Bill wanted to get some
pictures for his story so I stayed along with him and the
young fellow from Pathe Newsreel, while the guide and
his young helpers started back. In a matter of minutes we
were in a howling gale with snow, rain and terrific cold
wind. Everything started to turn to glassy ice and we were
sliding off rocks, unable to keep our footing. It blew so
hard we could barely breathe. It was now a case of work-
ing from one big boulder to another and getting down
behind, resting, and then starting for the next one. I heard
the young cameraman from Pathe start to cry and scream,
all at the same time. I got over to him and he told me he
was blind and he knew he was dying. By this time I was
getting a complete casing of ice all over me. I looked at
him and saw that his eyelids were covered with liquid ice
which was coming down on us. The lids had frozen to-
4*
gether. He thought his eyes were open and that he could
not see. I told him to rub his eyes and he would have his
sight all right. The instant he rubbed the thin coating of
ice from his lids he had his vision again.
By this time the guide and his two young helpers had
started along the trail, figuring that we were following
them. The storm continued to get worse every minute
as we battled from one boulder to another. The trail had
just plain disappeared and it was a case of following
along in the direction we thought the trail was going.
After battling our way for about an hour in this terrific
storm I spotted a place in the timber line below us that
looked like the trail. We made for that spot and located
the marker that designated the top of the trail. Even the
footprints of the guide and his two helpers, who had gone
down over it a short time before, were now filled with
snow, and drifts were across the trail that was fairly well
open when we had walked up over it. The young Pathe
cameraman spotted the trail and started down over it as
fast as he could, but MacDonald was slowing up all the
time, so I stayed along with him. It was now getting late
in the afternoon and I was afraid darkness would over-
take us before we got off the trail at the bottom. I tried
to hurry him but he acted sleepy and didn't seem to care
if he hurried or not. Finally he told me that he was
going to lie down and take just a little nap. I knew this
would be the end for if he had stopped he would have
frozen to death. I asked him if he wanted a smoke and
he said he would if I lighted it for him. I gave it to him
and with much exertion he finally got the mitten off his
right hand. I saw that his hand was swollen to twice its
normal size and was snow white and blue in color. I knew
it was frozen and that he was fast getting in bad shape. I
told him we had to get moving fast because he was in a
bad way, but he still had the idea that if he took just a
little nap he would be all right to go to the bottom. I
43
couldn't let him sleep, so I kept arguing with him to keep
going. When he fell down in the snow I helped him up
on his feet again and started along down the trail. It was
hard going as it was slippery and had deep drifts of snow
in places.
About the last quarter of the way down the' trail he '
took on such a drowsy feeling that it was almost impos-
sible for me to keep him walking. I tried to carry him,
along with my camera equipment, but found this was im-
possible, so I dragged him a while and then got him on
his feet again for a short distance. It was just getting dark
when we came off the trail at the bottom and found Jake
Coolidge organizing a group to go up the trail to bring
us down, as he knew we were in trouble.
We took Bill back to Plymouth, New Hampshire, and
started to work on his hands by rubbing them with snow
after we reached the hotel. I found that I had frozen the
tips of my fingers on both hands, so as I worked in the
snow on MacDonald's hands, I thawed out my own. I had
no bad effects from the trip but Bill went to the hospital
at Plymouth and then on to Boston where he spent more
time in a hospital while the specialists battled to save his
hands from amputation. He wrote the story which ap-
peared in the Boston Transcript with a layout of my
pictures, and is now in good health.
One summer a few years ago I happened to be in Hyan-
nis on Cape Cod covering a story. A fisherman came up
to me and told me he could give me some good pictures
if I wanted to go out with him some day. He told me he
would like to take me out to the shoals to catch some
sharks.
I told Larry Ellis, the New England cameraman for
Fox Newsreel, about it and we set a date to journey
down to Hyannis and meet the fisherman. We started out
to the shoals with him to get a good feature layout on
44
shark fishing. He had a couple of friends with him to do
the fishing as we would be busy making pictures.
The fishing lines consisted of rope about the size of a
clothes line, on the end of which was about six feet of
small chain and a hook about a foot long baited with a
whole fish.
We started out for the shoals in a good sized power boat
in perfect weather. As the boat rode the gentle swells we
arranged a place for our camera equipment on top of
the pilot house so we could get a good view of the entire
deck when the fishing started. On arriving close to the
shoals, the skipper stopped the boat, signaled the fisher-
men to toss their lines overboard and start fishing.
It was only a short time when the first shark was secure
on a line and started up from the bottom. The instant the
shark was hooked all other lines were coiled to avoid a
snarl under water as the shark started to thrash around.
Once the shark was started from the bottom it drove di-
rectly to the surface and made frantic passes by the boat,
always rolling on its back in attack position. As the line
took on some slack it was immediately taken up by two
men on the deck who were working on the line at all
times. As the shark dived and rolled we were shooting
pictures to get all the action. Finally after fifteen or
twenty minutes with plenty of motion where the water
was a white foaming mass caused by the wild thrashing
of the hooked shark, the fish began to lose its fighting
power and pushed its head out of water with its mouth
wide open, showing all its teeth sparkling in the sunlight,
almost as though it were posing for a national toothpaste
advertisement. This gave us a swell chance to get close
shots of the head, which we needed in the feature series.
When we were through shooting pictures of the shark
in the water, it was hauled over to the boat where the skip-
per was waiting for it with a baseball bat which had been
45
drilled down through the center and loaded with lead.
As the line brought it close to the boat the fight started
all over again and the skipper then started to use the bat
in true slugging style. When the shark was subdued he
was hoisted on board. It all made good picture material.
We were out on the fishing grounds about two hours and
in that time caught nine sharks weighing from three to
five hundred pounds each.
These sharks were of the variety known as sand sharks
and as far as I could learn, have never caused any trouble
to bathers, but when the newsreel was shown on the Cape,
and my pictures appeared in the papers, a bathing suit
was something that looked nice on the beach but the
bathing public remembered the pictures. Swimming lost
a lot of its popularity.
Another Cape Cod story that I shall always remember
is one that I decided I would make on old retired sea cap-
tains, who whittle out toy windmills and sell them to the
summer trade. This type of feature attracted me because
I thought I could get some good weather-beaten faces
and good character studies, along with general views of
the colorful windmills displayed in large masses along
the Cape highways.
I drove down to the Cape and stopped at several of the
different displays to talk with the men who were mak-
ing the windmills, looking always for the right character
for my pictures. Finally, after making several stops, I
found a fellow who was just about the type I wanted. He
told me he was the man Joseph Lincoln had written
about in his book Shavings. This gave me a little news
angle to the layout, and as the fellow was making all
his windmills by hand, he seemed like the perfect subject
so I made a whole series of pictures on him as he worked
on the mills. During the conversation I had with him
he showed me a stool in his shop where he said Joseph
Lincoln sat day after day and talked with him, as he was
writing Shavings. I put out the series of pictures, with a
caption story to the effect that the original "Shavings"
was still on Cape Cod whittling out toy windmills for
the summer visitors; along with information on how
many windmills he whittled out each winter and that he
was a retired sea captain.
The pictures were used in the papers and within three
weeks I received nine letters from different men on Cape
Cod telling me that I had made a bad mistake. Each one
of the nine claimed he was the original "Shavings" of
Joseph Lincoln's book. I wrote each of the men telling
them that eight others had also written me claiming to be
the original "Shavings/* but that if they would get to-
gether and decide which one was the original I would
be glad to make a trip to the Cape the next summer and
make another layout to correct my mistake. I have never
received an answer from any of them.
Another feature story I shall never forget was one made
in the little town of Winchester in New Hampshire, a
part of the Monadnock Region. It was the unusual setting
for the story that made it interesting. Phil Darling, secre-
tary of the region, dropped into my office one day and
asked me what I thought about a feature story of a man
making grandfather clocks in a garage. He told me of an
elderly gentleman in this little town who operated a ga-
rage and made clocks which sold all over the country. His
workshop was his garage where he also repaired automo-
biles.
I thought it over for a minute and tried to visualize just
how I was going to make a good picture story out of it.
To be truthful I was not too much sold on the idea but
I agreed to go up and look it over to see if I could make a
feature layout on it.
In a few days I called on Phil and we drove from Peter-'
boro over to Winchester. On arriving in the little town,
Phil told me to drive up a small driveway past the house
47
to a garage that set in the rear of the house. The building
was filled with the usual clutter that one finds in a coun-
try garage; parts of car springs on the floor mingled with
pieces of frames, fenders and a few rear end assemblies.
A long bench was firmly bolted to the wall with a huge
vise and a plentiful supply of heavy hammers, files and
wrenches scattered over it. The clockmaker was hard at
work driving a bushing out of a part of a front wheel
bearing with a heavy sledge hammer.
He stopped his work and Phil introduced me to him. I
asked him if he made his clocks here in this garage. Assur-
ing me that he did, he asked me if I would like to see
some of his clocks, and he promptly took me to his house
where he ushered me into the parlor of a beautiful old
New England home.
Here I really got a thrill for, in this room filled with
New England antiques was one of the finest grandfather
clocks I have ever set my eyes on. "This," he said, "is
one of my clocks and I like this one for its chimes so I
decided to keep it myself." He told me the story of his
chimes and how he made them to get the quality of sound
that I soon heard. Then he told me how he obtained the
fine mahogany and walnut wood that he used in the cab-
inets of his clocks. By now I was fascinated for I realized
that I had found another Yankee genius who just went
quietly along producing clocks that were masterpieces.
We went out into the garage where he opened a closet
and produced part of the works for a clock he had in the
process of construction. I have seen fine workmanship in
many places but I have never seen anything finer than
the delicate, precise work that appeared in this clock
mechanism. It was almost completed and had the chimes
already built into it. The full rich tones which came from
the chimes would alone sell the clock. These chimes were
made in this garage and the method of getting the qual-
ity of tone was one of the secrets of his trade.
I asked him where he got the faces for the clocks with
the beautiful an work and lettering on them. He told me
that he made his own clock faces and just sketched them
out there on the bench. The lettering and art work looked
like fine engraving and I just couldn't believe this man,
who was near seventy, could produce them. I told him
that it seemed almost impossible to me that he could do
this after using his hands and arms for heavy work such
as he was doing when I entered the garage. He shrugged
his shoulders, laughed and said, "Well, I guess seeing is
believing, isn't it?"
He produced a clock face partly done, told us to wait
until he washed up a bit, and he would go to work on the
face to show us how he did it. In a few minutes he was
back with a few brushes in his hand. He wiped off the
bench with a rag and put down a few newspapers to cover
the grease and oil. He opened some oil paints and here,
in a setting of old car parts and junk, was an artist at work
if ever I saw one. With brushes that were so small that
he could paint hair lines he started to work on the numer-
als on the clock face which he had already lightly
outlined in pencil. One by one he produced beautiful pre-
cision numerals with not a sign of a quiver to his brush
lines. This amazed me and I told him I couldn't under-
stand how his hand was so steady. He said, "Son, I'm just
an old upstate Yankee but I know enough to go to bed
nights and get my rest. Up here we sleep when it's dark
and work when it's light."
I have thought of that statement a good many times
when I've been burning the midnight oil. I realized that
here in New England most of the country folks live that
way and are strong and hearty people when they are well
into their seventies.
I asked about his cabinet work and he produced one of
the cabinets which was almost complete. It was another
precision job with wood joints that were hard to find, and
49
wood that had beautiful graining and finish. He took me
up to the loft over the garage to show me his secret for
his fine cabinets. He spent a good part of his time riding
around the countryside buying old pianos and old organs
made of solid mahogany and walnut. This wood was old
and well seasoned and from this wood he built his clock
cabinets. As we talked he unfolded a story that later made
him famous with my pictures across the entire country.
He has rebuilt antique clocks for museums in all parts
of the United States, and his clocks are in some of the
finest homes in the land. He told me how he had scoured
the state for certain grades of old apple wood to make
wooden gears for some of the old clocks which he has re-
built for museums and that he has built special machinery
to cut these gears from both wood and brass.
I asked him if he had done any advertising. He
laughed at me and said he had all the business he could
handle and that he had turned away many customers be-
cause he didn't want to sell his clocks to people he didn't
like. He builds about six clocks a year and when they are
completed he sells them to people who have a prized pos-
session for the rest of their lives.
I inquired about the timekeeping qualities of his clocks
and he told me that all his clocks carry a guarantee of
running within thirty seconds a month of accurate time.
He added, "I have to give myself this amount of leeway
as some people don't bother to adjust the pendulum prop-
erly. If I could go with the clocks and adjust them myself
for the spot where the clock will stand, I could guarantee
them to an accuracy of five seconds a month."
I made a layout of pictures featuring him at work
among the old auto parts, and made sure that I had pic-
tures which portrayed these beautiful clocks which were
the result of the hands of this New England Yankee gen-
ius. After the pictures were published in magazines and
papers across the country, I received a letter from this
50
fine gentleman thanking me for the publicity I had given
him and saying that he had received over three hundred
letters asking him to quote prices on his clocks. A few
of them told him to build a clock for them and send it
to them with the bill. His letter ended with a "best wishes
to the Yankee Photographer from the Yankee Clock-
maker." When I received this letter I got quite a thrill,
for in my work, I was able to take this unusual clockmaker
out of his little Xew Hampshire town by the medium of
photography and show him to the world. In a small way
I was able to bring to him credit for the wonderful work
he was doing.
"\Vhen I think of New Hampshire I also think of its
sister state of Vermont. In Vermont my fondest recollec-
tions take me to Plymouth Notch where I spent many
days photographing Calvin Coolidge in the little town
where he was born and where he spent his vacations dur-
ing most of his life. I knew Cal very well. To me he was
New England's Abraham Lincoln. He was quiet but when
he spoke he said something that was worthwhile. I have
covered a great many high government officials from presi-
dents down, but to me he was tops in everything a nation
should look to in a president.
I covered Calvin Coolidge from the time he was gov-
ernor of Massachusetts straight through to his funeral in
the peaceful little Vermont hillside cemetery at Plymouth
Notch. I covered him for spot news stories, and covered
him for features. One of the outstanding feature layouts
that I made of him was on a trip which I shared with him
on board the presidential yacht Mayflower^ while he
was president. This was in no way an exclusive but I did
have a big part in making the trip possible for the news
photographers.
He was on his vacation at White Court in Swampscott,
Massachusetts, which was the summer White House, and
for weeks the photographers had been arriving daily at
5 1
White Court early in the morning to photograph him
with the different important guests who called during his
vacation. It was necessary to arrive at the summer White
House early because Coolidge was a man who rose early.
Sometimes we got the best pictures around seven in the
morning. We would, however, wait through the day to
see if any other photos were to be made and we usually
left around seven at night.
After a few weeks, this long twelve-hour day seven days
a week was beginning to show on us, for after we had
finished our day long wait we had to go back to the office
at night to develop and print our pictures, write captions
and get our pictures off to the papers and the New York
office before we went home. This meant arriving back to
our homes every night about eleven o'clock and starting
off again the next morning at six o'clock. It soon began to
be an almost impossible schedule and I was delegated
to talk to Dick Jervis, the head of the Secret Service,
to try to have him arrange with the President to pose for
his afternoon pictures with his visitors earlier so we could
get back to the office and home at an earlier hour.
The next day we arrived at White Court at our usual
hour, and Dick Jervis told me that he had spoken to the
President and told him of our request and he thought
we would get our pictures earlier. That day was the same
as other days, however, and the pictures were not made
until late in the afternoon. This more or less got under
our skins but the following day we met at the summer
White House as usual at seven in the morning. We did
some griping among ourselves about the late afternoon
pictures and we decided that we would wait until two
o'clock in the afternoon, and if we were not called by
then we would say nothing but leave for Boston with no
one staying around to make any pictures after that. Two
o'clock came and we hadn't been called for a picture, so
we all left.
52
The following morning when we arrived Dick Jervis
called me and asked what had happened to the photog-
raphers the afternoon before. The President had rung
for the photographers at iout o'clock and when he went
to get us no one was there. I assured him that he was cor-
rect and reminded him that we had made a request for
earlier afternoon pictures. As nothing was done about it
we decided to leave at two o'clock and get home at least
once at a decent hour,
Dick Jervis went up to see the President and in a few
minutes he came back with the information that the Presi-
dent wanted to see us. We went to the front of the house
where we were always met. Gal came over to me and asked
where we were the afternoon before. I told him just what
our situation was, that we had been putting in some im-
possible hours for weeks, and as we were not called by
two o'clock we decided to go home and get some rest. At
that he laughed and passed each of us a small white card
which had written on it "Eastern Yacht Club Dock 8
A.M. Tomorrow." We put the cards in our pockets and
the President posed for a picture with one of the cabinet
officers who was his guest that day. Then he told us there
would be no more pictures that day so we could leave and
get some rest. As we left White Court we firmly believed
that our little talk had worked, and that we would now
be getting our pictures in the morning and the early after-
noon.
The card which we received was, I guess, a dress re-
hearsal for the small card which Calvin Coolidge passed
to the reporters before the nomination and which became
so famous. That card had the words "I do not choose to
run" and was amplified with "I have no further comment."
The card which we received, however, simply gave the
place and time and we naturally figured we were to get
some pictures as he left the dock to board the Mayflower
with some prominent guests. We were happy at least that
53
it was in the morning and we wouldn't have that long wait
for late afternoon pictures.
The morning came and we were lined up on the dock
at eight A.M. as directed on the card. To our great surprise
a power launch from the Mayflower came over to the dock
with an officer decked with gold braid. He stepped on
the dock and asked us if we had cards from the President.
We assured him that we had. He asked to see them and
also our newspaper credentials. We were then told to
board the launch to go to the Mayflower. It was all a mys-
tery to us but we started out and soon came up alongside
the presidential yacht. In a matter of seconds we were on
board the yacht at anchor in Marblehead Harbor.
I asked the officer if he knew what this was all about
and he simply said he had orders from the President to
take the newspapermen, who appeared on the float with
cards, on board the yacht. Other than that he knew noth-
ing of the President's plans.
The white launch left the ship, made another trip to
the dock and tied up. In a short time we saw the Presi-
dent and Mrs. Coolidge arrive on the dock, board the
launch, and in a few minutes they were alongside the
Mayflower. The President, dressed in his regular blue
serge double breasted suit and wearing his customary
stiff brimmed straw hat, came on board with Mrs. Coo-
lidge. She was dressed in a sport dress and wore white
shoes and hat, along with the broad smile and cheery
twinkle in her eyes that made her popular with news
photographers wherever she went.
The President held up his hand and said "No pictures."
This was about all we needed to completely mystify us,
for now the question in everyone's mind was "What did
we come here for if not to make pictures?" Without a
word of explanation the President and Mrs. Coolidge
walked forward and disappeared through a cabin door.
In a moment we heard a short blast on the ship's horn
54
and the mooring line was cast off. The pulse of the engines
could be felt through the ship. We were under way, steam-
ing out of Marblehead Harbor. As we passed through the
lines of beautiful yachts moored in the harbor we received
salutes and waves from all those on board. Most of the
yacht owners were training their binoculars on us, trying
to pick out President Coolidge, but he was not on deck.
His presidential flag however was waving in the breeze
from the mast, telling all seafaring men that he was on
board.
After we cleared the harbor and were heading for the
open sea, the cabin door up forward opened and the
President and Mrs. Coolidge stepped on deck. Now he
was dressed for the part with white pants and shoes, a
medium blue sport jacket and a yachting cap. He had a
broad grin as he approached us. We could plainly see he
was having a fine time keeping us all guessing. He greeted
us with, "Boys, I knew you were tired and have put in
some long hours. You've done a fine job, so today this is
your trip and I'll pose for all the shots you want/'
This turned into a field day for us and we made all
sorts of pictures showing a president on board his yacht.
Mrs. Coolidge posed along with him, and I made one of
the finest feature layouts ever made on a president along
with good hot news pictures of the President on his vaca-
tion.
The ship was ours. We visited every corner in it and
enjoyed a fine steak dinner with the President and Mrs.
Coolidge. Then, to make the trip a permanent record for
us, they posed for a group picture with us. I cherish the
picture as it is one of my most prized possessions.
After a day at sea the ship headed back to Marblehead
and we were taken ashore, ending an historic trip, for as
far as I know it was the only time in the history of the
country that a president took a group of photographers
on his yacht for a day's outing.
55
Feature stories produced all sorts of pictures and sub-
jects, and were always different. I can vividly remember
a feature I made at Ellsworth, Maine, close to the famous
Bar Harbor summer resort.
In this little town of Ellsworth, one of the local resi-
dents had been working for years building a completely
revolutionary airplane. It was to flap its wings and fly
like a seagull. I had heard of the plane and had talked
to the builder but was always told it was a secret; that I
would be notified when it was completed and ready for
its test flight.
One day in my morning mail came a letter from Ells-
worth telling me that the mysterious airplane was to have
its test flight on the following Monday. I called Phil Coo-
lidge and Larry Ellis, two of the newsreel photographers
who were not competition to me, and on Sunday we drove
down east to Ellsworth to cover the take-off of this seagull
plane which flapped its wings and, as its inventor told
us before the trial flight, "It would take off just like a
bird/'
We located the designer and builder of this mystery
plane and he talked with us for a few minutes, graphi-
cally explaining the beautiful scene that he would give
us in the morning with this graceful bird plane flying
straight up from a small field into the blue sky filled with
white fleecy clouds. This would be fine but could we just
look at the plane? After some salesmanship and an expla-
nation that if we could see the plane we could then decide
on the type of equipment we would need to get our pic-
tures in the morning during the test flight, he agreed to
our request. He said he would take us to the workshop
and let us view the metal bird. We would, however, have
to solemnly promise that we would tell no one that we
had seen the plane until after the take-off in the morning.
The inventor led the way up the street to a long one-
story building which was relatively new in appearance
56
and then unlocking the heavy door, he paused to LCUL ^
we were about to see the plane that would revolutionize
flying. The door opened and we saw a masterful piece
of workmanship. It was beautiful a large wooden bird
with a satin smooth finished body of wood. Its out-
stretched wings were wooden frames, carrying hundreds
of large flaps made of thin shining tin.
This was really something to look at, and from a picture
point of view it had everything a story should have. But,
how would a plane like this fly? I asked the designer
if he had made any tests at all. He told me that he had
worked it all out on paper and there was just nothing
else the plane could do but fly. He confided in us that
years before he had spent hour after hour studying birds
in flight and had discovered their secret of flying. Without
a bit of hesitation he told us that he had applied their
method of flight to this plane. In the morning he would
haul the plane onto the field with a pair of horses and as
soon as he could fill the gasoline tank and start the motor
he would fly off the field as easily as a bird. The advan-
tage of this plane, he explained, was in the fact that he
needed no runways. The plane would flap its wings and
take to the air with the greatest of ease.
A large aviation motor was bolted securely in the back
of the bird, opposite the wings. A series of wheels and
levers connected to a clutch on the motor would flap the
wings. The motor had been tested for a few seconds to
make sure it would run, but the wings had never been
connected while the motor was going as the height of the
ceiling would not permit the wings to lift. This was not
necessary, we were told by the designer, as he had worked
that all out on paper also, and the morning would prove
everything working perfectly. We would see history being
made in the field of aviation.
We left the gentleman with his bird plane and got in
our cars to go back to our hotel* The morning was sure of
57
producing a topnotch picture layout regardless of what
happened. If it flew, we had a layout of the first plane of
its type on its first flight which would not only make a full
page feature layout in the leading papers of the country
but also would make one or two pictures for page one as
spot news pictures. If it was a failure and didn't fly, we
still had a good feature layout of this beautiful bird-like
plane which was the result of a man studying birds in
flight, and with nothing but his ideas on paper he had
spent months building this creation but then forgot how
to teach the bird to fly. It could always be used with a gag
cut-line.
In the morning we had breakfast bright and early and
started for the field. It was a typical New England sum-
mer morning. The grass was covered with dew, and over
head a clear blue sky dotted with tufts of white. We could
just picture the large bird taking off into this sky that was
perfect for pictures.
On arriving at the workshop we found the rear doors
were open and the plane was partly out of the building.
Along with the designer was another man who seemed
to be pretty well along in years. He was introduced to
us as the workman who had worked on the plane with the
designer. This had all been done in secrecy, in order that
none of the natives of the town would know anything
about it until the huge bird flew over the town. A large
pair of work horses was standing by, all harnessed ready
to haul the plane up onto the field.
With the bird now out in the daylight we really got a
good look at it from all angles, and we began to ask our-
selves questions. We noted the undercarriage was just a
pair of rubber tired automobile wheels mounted on a
front axle bolted directly to the wooden frame at the
bird's breast. I pointed it out to Ellis and told him the
bird would have to land and take off pretty easy for there
were no springs or shock equipment to take up any jar.
58
Then Coolidge noticed that the propeller which was
mounted on the bird's beak was not connected to the en-
gine at all, and the tail had no landing strut or any means
of keeping it off the ground when it landed or took off.
I asked the designer about the propeller not being con-
nected and he said that he would use that only for fast fly-
ing straight ahead. For this test he was just going to fly
and circle around slowly to let us photograph the bird in
flight, but after the test flights were made he would then
get the necessary parts to put the forward speed on the
plane. By now we could see many things that seemed to
be missing but we were assured by the designer and his
workman that they were unnecessary as birds didn't have
them.
Now the horses were ready and the workman lifted the
tail of the bird while the designer took the reins. It was
only a distance of about five hundred feet from the work-
shop to the field and the horses started up over the rough
land to the spot selected for the take-off. As the horses
walked along with the bird behind them, the workman
struggled to hold the tail off the ground. When we arrived
at the take-off spot we found a small open field of about
two hundred square feet. There were evergreen trees
around most of the field which the designer told us was
perfect as it would keep the plane from the view of every-
one until it took to the air. His main idea seemed to be
to keep it a secret until he flew over the town.
With the plane in position the workman lowered the
fail to the ground and left for the workshop. He returned
in a few moments with a sawhorse, and with the help o
the designer this was placed under the tail to put the
plane in a flying position.
The gasoline tank consisted of a five-gallon oilcan
mounted inside the body with a pipe line running for-
ward to the engine which was secured opposite the wings.
In the nose of the body just behind the propeller was an
59
open cockpit seat. The workman told me that he had
spent many hours dreaming of this day, and today when
the bird flew he would be in that seat.
In this setting against the dark of the evergreen trees,
the bird-like plane with its glittering wings and smooth
natural wood body was a beautiful sight and showed in
an instant the months of hard work that had brought it
to its present state of completion. Phil Coolidge looked
at the plane and said it was a shame to start the motor
and wreck this beautiful bird. To me it looked like an
accident waiting to happen, but to the designer and the
workman it was to be their day of days today the bird
would go aloft and fly.
The designer walked around the bird several times to
make sure everything was in the best of condition and
then, deciding that the hour had arrived, he gave the
workman the order to start the engine. With a couple of
cranks the powerful aviation motor started and set up a
terrific roar, but quickly the workman throttled it back to
an easy pulsating idle and took his position in the open
cockpit seat where he had the clutch lever that would
throw the wings into motion.
All chances of this plane flying had now left our minds
and we were looking around the field for the best direc-
tion to start on a hasty retreat in case we had to when the
motor started. This was going to be a news story regard-
less of what happened! Hearing the roar of the engine
when it started, and then seeing the position of the work-
man in the nose of the bird, I decided it might be just
good news policy to get a picture of him before something
happened. I told the designer I wanted him to hold every-
thing until I got a close-up of both of them standing
by the plane. The movie men saw at a glance what I had
in mind and they followed in my footsteps to get their
close-ups.
With our feet braced and ready to spring for safety at a
60
moment's notice we waved to the designer that we were
ready. He went to the side of the plane and told the work-
man not to make this a long flight but to circle and come
right back. Then he stepped back and gave the signal to
start.
With a wave the workman opened the throttle about
quarter speed and the engine started to roar. With a for-
ward lunge he threw the clutch lever and the bird be-
came action unlimited from tail to open cockpit. The
wings gave one or two terrific flaps and the sky became
filled with flying tin; the workman had been thrown clear
of his seat and was resting peaceably on the ground. The
designer rushed to the bird to stop the engine, but by this
time the once beautiful bird was flopping around the field
like a badly wounded duck.
The tin wing valves which were supposed to open on
the upward motion of the wings and close on the down-
ward motion were falling around us like rain. The wheel
landing gear had broken through the body and the tail
was resting on the ground the wings were still beating
themselves to pieces on the ground as the designer, in
a frantic but lucky swing, caught the clutch lever and thus
ended the bird's misery.
He told us that of course this was the first test but he
was convinced that the bird plane would be a success, as
he had seen daylight under the wheels when the wings
started to flap. To us this was unimportant for, by that
time, we could see daylight through almost any part of
the bird. He assured us he would change a few things and
make a few adjustments in the wing valve assembly and
he would let us know when he intended to make the next
test. But the next test never came for the plane that was
to fly like a bird.
In the steady search for features with good picture pos-
sibilities we always made a good maple sugar layout in
the early spring when the maple sap started to run with
61
the first warm days. The best spot for this was my old
stamping ground in Plymouth Notch, Vermont, where
Colonel John Coolidge, father of the late president, had
a large sugar maple orchard on the side of the hill over-
looking the little town. The equipment had excellent
picture value. A large tank was mounted on a sled and
hauled by a pair of oxen through the orchard to collect
the sap from hundreds of pails which were hanging on
the trees. Near the edge of the orchard stood the old time
sugar house, weather beaten and crudely built, but ideal
as a photographic subject.
Herb Moore, who was president of the Home Town
Coolidge Club and a general promoter for the little town,
was always willing to stage the pictures for me and he
would produce the old-fashioned hand-hewn shoulder
yoke with a pail hanging on each end. Herb knew the
type of picture I wanted and he dressed for the part in
his heavy red wool shirt and long felt boots.
The layout consisted of pictures of the oxen with the
collecting tank sled, shots of Herb with the old yoke col-
lecting sap, boiling the sap in the sugar house, filling the
gallon cans with golden syrup and always a shot of a
little country boy with a big close-up smile as he ate a
piece of maple sugar.
This layout always had the same result an avalanche
of mail arriving in Herb Moore's mail box ordering maple
sugar from the Coolidge Farm. If the entire township had
been one big orchard there wouldn't have been enough
maple syrup to fill the demand.
Scientific subjects always made good feature layouts. I
worked very closely with Jim Rollins, the publicity
director of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology,
and it was on one of these M. I. T. stories that I produced
a layout of unusual photographs.
Colonel Green, a great friend of M. I. T., had a large
estate at Dartmouth, Massachusetts. He had built a large
metal hangar on this estate to house a dirigible but had
only used it for that purpose a short time and had no fur-
ther use for it. Knowing that the scientists at M. I. T.
were experimenting with high voltage electricity in vol-
tages high enough to produce man-made lightning, he
offered the hangar to the Institute for its experiments. A
very high building with a large open-spaced interior was
needed and this building fitted the requirements.
The scientists designed the equipment they needed and
worked for years building and erecting it inside the
hangar. When it was completed and ready for testing,
Jim called me and asked if I wanted a good layout story
on man-made lightning. I assured him it had great possi-
bilities and we went down over the road to Dartmouth
where I was to make my first photos of this type of light-
ning.
We arrived at the huge hangar and took a look inside.
In the center of the building stood two tall tubes with a
large ball mounted on the top of each. The tubes were
about fifteen feet high and each ball was about ten feet in
diameter. At the base of each tube was an enclosed cabi-
net that housed the machines which produced the high
voltage that ran into millions of volts.
One of the scientists told me that the machines charged
the large metal balls until there was enough voltage to
send a streak of lightning to the opposite ball and that
the lightning would be, to all appearances, the same as
natural lightning. He warned me to stay clear of the
apparatus when it was operating and set up the camera at
the opposite end of the hangar where I could photograph
the entire set-up when it went into action as the lightning
might jump to anything within range.
I set up my camera on a tripod for I knew it would be
like photographing natural lightning at night, when all
that is necessary is to open the shutter and let the light-
ning do its own work as it darts across the film. Picking a
63
location where I could cover the entire apparatus from
the ground to the roof of the hangar, I made sure of the
focus and waited until the action started.
In order to study the flashes and see them clearly the
lights were turned off, with the exception of a couple of
small lights at the base of the tubes. The hangar had no
windows so the entire interior was dark.
Soon the high speed machines which generated the
high voltage began to whine and scream as they built up
speed. The entire procedure began to send weird shivers
along my spine. Suddenly there was a terrific snap and a
flash of lightning left one of the huge balls and hit the
opposite one; then another hit the metal ceiling of the
hangar; then they were hitting the ground. All during
this time I was opening and closing my shutter and chang-
ing film holders as fast as I could. This terrific snapping
and crashing, along with the bright blue and pink streaks
of lightning hitting about everything in sight, gave me the
feeling that I was certainly photographing something
new. I had photographed about every kind of story but
this was the first time I had made a set of pictures inside
the devil's workshop.
The huge ball-topped tubes were now moved closer to-
gether and the lightning then went onto a straight course,
jumping between the two balls, which made me feel a lot
more at ease. To demonstrate the power of the man-
made lightning a block of wood was placed between the
large ball electrodes. The first streak of lightning split
the wood like a match stick.
As you can well imagine, I had a spectacular set of pic-
tures when I left the estate that night.
Chapter V
IN THE CATEGORY of stories known to the veteran
news photographer as stunt features come some of the
greatest thrills. These stories are usually the result of the
wild but fertile mind of a photographer who is looking
for a good layout of pictures when hot news stories are at
a low ebb.
I was returning by car one day from Northampton,
Massachusetts, where I had been making some photos of
Calvin Coolidge, and I had very few pictures lined up for
the next two weeks. As I drove along the road with Wil-
kinson of Paramount Newsreel we were trying to get an
idea of something we could work out that would make a
good layout feature. We came up with all kinds of ideas
and finally I remembered that a few weeks before I had
been talking with the manager of the Moth Airplane
Company, the manufacturers in this country of the British
Moth Plane. The factory was in Lowell, Massachusetts,
and the manager had told me he would be very glad to
cooperate with me on any story I could think of that
would produce pictures to publicize his Moth Airplanes.
With this in mind, I told Wilkinson that we could do
something new with a plane and that I knew I could get
the plane for any stunt. Many wild ideas came to mind,
such as a tug-of-war between an airplane and an automo-
bile, and dozens of others, but they all washed out when
65
we thought of the practical application of the stunt and
found it would be impossible to do it either from a photo-
graphic angle or the physical limitations of the plane. We
liked the idea of doing something with a plane and an
automobile so finally I came up with the idea of flying
the plane off the roof of an automobile. This, of course,
was just a brainstorm but the more we thought about it
the more we realized that actually it could be done; cer-
tainly a stunt that had never been done before and would
make a sw r ell layout of pictures which would hit all types
of papers.
I remembered some of the facts that the manager of the
Moth Airplane had given me. The plane would take off
at forty-two miles an hour, and it was one of the lightest
planes ever built. The speed offered no problem to us for
certainly a car could travel forty-two miles an hour. I felt
sure I could get the plane and I knew I could get a car
for I was well acquainted with Fred Ordway and Carl
Batchelder. Fred was president and Carl was vice presi-
dent of the Henley Kimball Company, New England dis-
tributors of the Hudson automobile, and they were always
very glad to get publicity for the Hudson car.
I went directly to Lowell and visited the manager o
the Moth airplane factory. I told him that I had a stunt
in my mind which I knew would produce national public-
ity for his plane and company, but he would have to keep
all the details absolutely secret and if completed would
have to be an exclusive story. With assurance from him
that he would abide by the secrecy part of the deal, I told
him that the stunt was to fly an airplane from the roof
of an automobile. He just sat back and laughed and said,
"Brother, I've heard some good ones but this tops them
all. Have you got any more ideas like this one?"
I told him that to me it sounded just as ridiculous but
to my judgment it could be done and I was sure his plane
could do it. I stressed the fact that it had never been done
66
before, and that it was a sure-fire national news layout
which would hit papers all over the world. After some dis-
cussion he began to see that it wasn't an impossibility and
he called in his test pilot, Al Krapish, who would be the
pilot on the stunt. Al came in and was informed of the
secrecy angle and was given the stunt in detail. He agreed
it could be done and was willing to fly the plane from
the roof of a car.
I had now overcome my biggest problem. I had the
plane, and it was simply a case of getting the car and the
necessary framework built on it to hold the plane.
With a measuring tape and the help of the pilot I made
a number of accurate measurements which would enable
me to draw a plan of the necessary steelwork framing for
the car. I also got the weight of the plane at the wheels
and the weight on the tail strut as these would be the
three points where the plane would rest on the car roof
structure.
Armed with these measurements and the assurance of
the use of the plane, I called on Fred Ordway, distribu-
tor of the Hudson car, to outline the stunt to him and
assure him of the national publicity which would result
from it.
He was enthused over the idea and agreed to go along
with me, furnishing the automobile and the necessary
steel tubing framework for the car to hold the plane. Be-
cause of the need for secrecy, even the builders of the
steel work could not know the exact use which was to be
made of the structure they were building. The next morn-
ing I took the measurements and plans to the Henley
Kimball garage in Cambridge and Fred Ordway brought
in the car that was to make history. The car was a new
demonstrator of the Super Six class and had the longest
wheelbase made by Hudson. Fred introduced me to Red
Pealier who was the blacksmith at the garage and the
man who would build the superstructure on the car. Of
course the first question Red asked was what the structure
would be used for. I had to give him some answer so I
explained that Fred had bought a new type of light speed-
boat and was going on a trip with me. "We were planning
to carry it on the roof of the car. It was hard to convince
him but he went ahead with the project and after two days
of welding, drilling and bolting we had completed the
job. The measurements checked perfectly and it was
solid enough to hold the weight it was to carry.
Al Krapish was ready at any time to deliver the plane
and fly it for the stunt. The location of the airport for
this episode had not been decided but it had to be some
place where we could put the plane onto the superstruc-
ture and also where a long run could be made. It must
also be a spot away from the eyes of inquisitive newspaper-
men. As it was in the early fall, I decided that Old
Orchard Beach in Maine would be the ideal spot. Here
we would have a runway over six miles long at low tide
with a perfect hard surface. The high bankings at one end
of the beach would make an ideal spot to load the plane
onto the car.
Another good friend of mine, Pop Hutchinson, owned a
large hotel at Old Orchard Beach and with the hotel he
had a large garage which would house the car until every-
thing was ready. As it was late in the season, the guests
had all checked out and the hotel would be closed for the
year in about a week, but I knew we would complete the
stunt in a few days if we had any kind of break in
the weather.
Wilkinson, from Paramount Newsreel, who had been
with me when I thought of this stunt, was only filling in
for Phil Coolidge, the regular cameraman who was on
vacation. Phil had returned by now and we were working
together on the stunt. He was of course anxious to get it
going before the story leaked out to some other newsreel
or newspapermen.
68
A telephone call to the airplane pilot to be ready the
next day, and a call to Pop Hutchinson at Old Orchard
Beach that we would be down there late at night and to
have his garage open, and everything was set. I drove the
car from Boston late at night with a red lantern hanging
on the rear end of the superstructure, which protruded
about ten feet behind the car. Arriving at Old Orchard
Beach I put the car in the hotel garage where it was hid-
den from view.
Pop met us at the garage and was somewiiat surprised
at the appearance of the car, but w r e told him to just keep
quiet, to say nothing to anyone, and when the time came
he would be able to see just what the funny looking con-
traption w r as to be used for.
History- had already been made on this famous beach by
some of the trans-Atlantic take-offs of the early days, when
airports just didn't exist that had runways long enough to
allow the take-offs which were being made by the early
pioneers in flying.
Operating a flying service on the beach, and always a
big help to any flyer who landed there, was the veteran
flyer Harry Jones. I had worked with Harry on many
stories and had hired him to fly me on several occasions
when I had to make aerial photos. I talked with him
about the proposition and showed him the car the next
day. Then we went to a lumber yard and bought some
heavy planking to be used in getting the plane onto the
car framework. At the location of Harry's hangar, the sand
dunes had been graded to a gentle rise from the hard,
smooth sands of the beach, and just beyond that spot
there was a sharp cutway with a drop of about five feet to
the level of the beach. This was an ideal location, for we
could roll the plane up the graded section to the top of
the sand dunes and then, by putting the car against the
dunes at the drop-off point, we could put the planking
from the top of the dunes in an almost level position to
69
the top of the car and roll the plane onto the metal struc-
ture.
The weather reports were ideal for the following day,
and the tide would be dead low at eleven in the morning.
Everything seemed to be working for us, but we realized
that a lot of mishaps could take place before we had the
final pictures. I called Al Krapish, the pilot, and told him
that the tide would be out enough by nine o'clock in the
morning for him to land. I warned him to land as close
to the water as possible for the upper part of the beach was
soft sand and might give him trouble.
We were all awake bright and early the next morning.
It was a day just made for the take-off. Bright sunshine
streamed in the windows and hardly a breath of wind was
stirring, but both Phil Coolidge and I were beginning to
take on a little nervousness for we knew it was a good
story, but after all it was a dizzy idea and almost anything
could happen before the stunt was completed.
We had breakfast and drove over to the hangar in Phil's
car, to await the arrival of the plane. The tide was down
fairly well from the high water mark and we knew that
by nine o'clock Al would have plenty of hard sand to land
on. At nine o'clock on the dot we heard the motor of a
plane and Harry Jones pointed to the small plane coming
in from the west.
Al came in low over the beach once and looked over the
conditions and then circled to land. He got out of the
plane and, as he had not seen the car with the structure
built on it, we took him down to the garage. He checked
it over, pronounced it perfect, and assured us that the
stunt would be easy after we had loaded the plane on the
car roof.
The next problem which confronted me was a driver
for the car. I knew it would have to be someone with a lot
of nerve to drive with a propeller roaring just in front and
over him. I went down to Biddeford and checked around
70
for a good tough taxi driver who would not be afraid of
anything and finally found one who said he would drive
anything with wheels on it and an engine. I took him
back to the hangar at the beach and then went down to
the hotel garage for the car. To avoid any possible curios-
ity seekers on the streets, I drove the car up the beach and
swung it into position, headed tightly against the sharp
bank of the high sand dunes from which we w T ere going to
roll the plane.
We put the heavy planking from the dunes to the super-
structure of the car. By now, a few of the neighbors who
lived at the beach the year around had wandered over to
see what w r as going on. As Harry Jones knew them, we
were sure they would help us and wouldn't put in any
telephone calls to newspapers. With the five or six men we
now had we rolled the plane up the grade from the beach,
over to the top of the elevated sand dunes and, tail first,
across the planks onto the car structure. Everything fitted
perfectly, with the tail skid resting in the small box-
shaped rigging on the protruding section at the rear of
the car, and the wheels resting in the curved chocks to
keep them in place until the pilot attained his flying
speed.
With the plane on the roof, the car was starting to settle
in the soft sand so I backed the car down on the hard sand
of the beach. As I moved the car we noticed the plane did
quite a bit of swaying. Then we realized that the springs
of the car were too flexible and the action would have to
be taken from them. I got under the car and took some
measurements. In Harry's hangar we found some heavy
pieces of timber and cut four blocks. We jacked up the
car body a little, put a block under each of the four
springs, and tied them in place with heavy cord. With the
blocks now in place, we had corrected the swaying of the
car and plane.
The tide was nearly at low water mark and we had
an excellent runway of perfectly smooth hard sand. We
checked everything to make sure it was in place. The
front wheel axles of the plane were locked in place on the
chocks by a steel catch which was to be released by a rope
running from the chocks to the cockpit of the plane. This
would allow the pilot to keep the wheels in a secure posi-
tion until he was ready to take off, when he would pull the
rope releasing the catch and at the same time pull back
on the airplane's control stick. Then the plane would be
airborne.
We knew that it would be impossible for any rehearsal
run, for the plane on the roof gave every indication of a
top-heavy problem and the only thing that would relieve
it was speed, which of course would give the wings a lift-
ing power. It must be one run, and we told the pilot to
plan his take-off, hold the plane in the chocks until he got
opposite us, then pull his release rope and take off so we
would get the actual take-flight shots at close range.
Al decided he had better warm up his motor so I called
the taxi driver whom I had hired and told him to take his
place in the car. The instant the motor started and the
taxi driver looked through the windshield of the car to
see the propeller flying around a few feet in front of his
face he lost all interest in the stunt and ran from the car.
He wanted no part of the driving of that car for any
amount of money.
This gave me my first serious problem. We were ready
to go but had no driver. I knew I couldn't drive the car
and get pictures too. While I was trying to figure out a
way to get a driver, a quiet little fellow who was a me-
chanic for Harry Jones at the hangar, came up to me and
said he would like to drive the car if I would let him. I
assure you it took no amount of persuasion, and the little
mechanic got behind the wheel. The airplane propellers
and exhaust noises didn't bother him a bit and in about
7*
fifteen minutes he had earned for himself twenty-five dol-
lars, which was a week's pay in those days.
Everything was ready and the pilot was in the cockpit
with the engine throttled to slow speed. We decided that
in order to get the plane to flying speed in a hurry and
take the heavy load off the car by letting the wings take
the lift, it would be advisable for both the plane and car
motors to open up at the start of the take-off run. The
noise of course would make it impossible for the driver to
hear a shout from the pilot, so I tied a string on the
mechanic's wrist and passed the other end up to the pilot.
In the event that the pilot wanted to stop he could pull a
series of sharp pulls on the string and the car driver would
stop. Also, at the start of the run, one sharp pull would
give the car driver the go signal.
With a warning to drive very slowly on the way down
the beach to the take-off point and make a large circle
w r hen he turned, we waved to the tw T o men and the his-
toric event was about to be enacted. Both Phil Coolidge
and I were ready with our cameras set to make the pic-
tures that would be seen by the readers of newspapers the
country over. We were both nervous and I don't hesitate
to tell you that my stomach seemed to be filled with
butterflies.
It was my wild idea it was a great story for pictures
but it could go wrong even now, and something might
happen to either of the two men doing the stunt.
The contraption slowly moved down the beach. It
seemed as though they were never going to turn, but Al
was a good pilot and really knew his flying. He was going
to have plenty of length in his runway so that he would
be sure of attaining flying speed when he passed in front
of us.
Finally, when they were almost down to the recreation
pier, we saw them slowly turn and line up for the run
73
down the beach. They had about two miles to travel be-
fore they reached the spot where %ve were set for them.
There was a light breeze of about four miles an hour
blowing down the beach toward them which would help
in the take-off.
We could hear the airplane motor roar but the car was
not moving. We knew Al was just opening up the engine
for a final test. In an instant w T e heard the roar again and
the car was moving too. They were on the run and in no
time we saw the tail of the plane go up in flying position
and we could tell that the car was really moving. It was
now getting into range and Phil started to grind out
movies, I shot one, quickly changed plates, and when they
approached the spot for the take-off, Al pulled the release
rope for the front wheels, then drew back on the plane's
control stick and the plane went into the air in a perfect
take-off.
It was just the dizzy idea of a newspaperman looking
for a feature picture layout, but history was made that
day and it was the first time, probably the only time, an
airplane was flown from the roof of a car. Both the Moth
airplane and the Hudson car people received a tremen-
dous amount of publicity which more than paid them for
their trouble.
74
Chapter VI
A FEW MONTHS after the airplane-automobile stunt,
news began to slacken again and the stunt idea once more
began to work in my mind. Phil Coolidge and I tried to
dream up something that would make a layout as good as
the previous one. It wasn't very long before our fertile
minds came up with the idea of transferring a man from
an airplane to a submarine.
We were sure we had another good set of pictures and
movies if we could do the stunt, but this time it was a
different story. On this one we couldn't get a submarine
from a friend, and the airplane must be a navy plane in
order to do the story right. But this didn't stop us when
we had a good story in the making.
Remembering back a few months, we thought of the
commanding officer at the United States Navy Submarine
Base at Newport, Rhode Island. He was a fine fellow. In
those days there was no war hysteria. We were at peace
with the world, and the navy was always willing to cooper-
ate with newsmen in order to get favorable publicity. He
seemed to be the answer to our story, so bright and early
the next day we drove down to the base at Newport to pay
the commanding officer a visit. As I remember, he was
either a Captain or a Rear Admiral, and a man who was
always willing to listen.
I had a set of pictures with me on the airplane-automo-
75
bile story and also a number of the clippings from papers
all over the country, to show him the type of publicity our
stunt would receive. Slowly we unfolded our idea for the
story, explaining to him that the idea would be a practi-
cal one which might actually be used, in the event of war,
to put an officer on a submarine from a plane, in case
something went wrong on the sub and a specialist would
be needed.
When we had completed our story, he told me that the
Naval Airbase, which was also under his command, would
be ideal for the air support w r e needed and he could fur-
nish the submarine without too much difficulty. He told
us that he would do a little checking with the Navy
Department at Washington to get the man to do the
jump, as he didn't have a parachute jumper at the Airbase
at Newport. It would take only a few days to do this and
he said he would drop us a letter if he could locate a man
to do the jump.
Let me say here that the jump planned in our story was
not just a jump. It meant that the man would go over the
side from a plane; on the way down inflate a rubber boat,
land in the water in the boat; with a paddle that he was
also to take with him, paddle himself over to the waiting
submarine.
We returned to Boston and figured that at least we had
made a good try. It was all in the laps of the gods as to
whether or not the Navy had a man who, in those early
days of aviation, could jump out of a plane with a rubber
boat and a paddle folded up under his arm, open the
shute, inflate the boat on the way down and land in it on
the water.
It was only a few days later when we received a letter
from the commanding officer saying that he had located
a man who the navy was sure could do the stunt. He was
Lieutenant Stark from the Naval Air Station at Lake-
hurst, New Jersey. He was well skilled in the art of para-
chute jumping as he was a parachute instructor. The letter
told us that in order to do the story there must be perfect
weather conditions with a flat, calm sea and good flying
visibility.
With the letter giving us an okay, we were well on our
way to making more history and getting another set of
pictures. The story would be another first for we were
sure no one had ever made a contact from an airplane to a
submarine.
We checked the weather reports and as rain was prom-
ised for the next day, we just waited until the day we
needed was predicted. This came to us in about four days
and was made to our order. It was warm, clear and a flat
calm. The night before we had packed our camera equip-
ment, notified the commander at the Base, and at daylight
started down over the road to our destination.
About eight-thirty that morning we arrived at the Base
to meet the commanding officer and Lieutenant Stark who
was to do the jump. He was a young man in his late twen-
ties and was very anxious to do the stunt. As he listened to
our plan, his eyes sparkled and he smiled as he assured us
the jump would be a simple matter.
The submarine had been given its orders the night
before, and on our arrival at the Base the sub cast off its
lines and got under way for a designated point about two
miles off shore where it was to stop and wait for the
pick-up of the parachute jumper.
The torpedo planes which we were to use were ready
at the Naval Airbase so we proceeded to the Base with the
commander to see that everything was properly set before
we took off. A formation of four planes was to be used.
One plane was to cany the jumper, one for Phil Coolidge,
and one for me, with the fourth plane to carry the com-
mander so he could get a good view of the entire proce-
dure. The pilots were brought into the office and each
man was told exactly what he should do when he arrived
77
over the submarine. All four planes were seaplanes and in
the flat calm sea could land on the water to pick up the
jumper if he missed the submarine by any great distance.
The final instructions were for the four planes to take
off together and when we got into the air the plane with
the jumper on board was to go directly to the spot where
we were to have the rendezvous with the submarine.
This plane was to attain an altitude of five thousand
feet and the two planes carrying Phil Coolidge and me
were to stay one on each side, about a hundred feet above
the jumper's plane. The commander would be above us
and remain over our planes at all times so that he
wouldn't interfere with the operations of the camera
when the story went into action.
Lieutenant Stark was now in his flying suit. He had the
small rubber boat and paddle all ready, along with his
parachute. A small steel compressed-air bottle was con-
nected to the rubber boat with a rubber hose and a quick
release on the pressure bottle would open the valve in-
stantly to inflate the boat. Stark tried different methods of
holding the equipment to get the best possible position
so that he could begin work as soon as he took his dive.
The compressed-air bottle seemed to be the most difficult
part of the air luggage to handle, so he decided to stuff it
inside his belt in front of him where he could get to it in
a hurry. This seemed to straighten everything out and he
made a few practice gestures to make sure he could pull
the quick release knot on the rope which held the package
containing the rubber boat. Everything was ready for the
take-off.
Phil and I checked our camera shutters and then got
into the planes which were to fly us on the stunt. The pilot
of my plane was a young fellow in his early twenties and
very much interested in photography. He was thrilled at
being picked as one of the pilots and assured me he would
do everything he could to get me into proper position for
good pictures. As I settled down in my seat in this plane,
it brought back memories of my first flight covering the
Harvard- Yale football game. There was certainly a great
difference between this navy plane and the little JN'4
which I had jammed myself into on that first flight. This
plane had a radio and plenty of room to move around in.
My helmet had an inter-communication system built into
it so that I could talk to the pilot while we were in the air.
The pilot started the motor. With everything checked,
all four planes took off and circled around until we were
in formation, which we were to maintain until Lieutenant
Stark dove over the side from his plane. It had been ar-
ranged that as soon as Stark took his jump the pilot of his
plane would go straight ahead and remain at his altitude
watching Stark and rescue him in the event he had any
difficulty in blowing up the boat on the way down.
We were flying along at a moderate cruising speed. The
planes were about seventy-five feet apart which was just a
good distance to cover everything in the camera angle.
The plane carrying Lieutenant Stark was a little below
me and to the right. At the same altitude as our plane and
beyond Stark's plane was the one carrying Phil Coolidge.
We could see the submarine drifting around on the
calm sea ahead of us and we were gaining altitude all the
time. I knew that Stark wanted five thousand feet under
him before he dove, as he figured he would need nearly
that much of a drop to give him time to get his equipment
ready to land on the water.
When we got over the submarine we were only at three
thousand feet, so it was a case of several wide circles to get
the altitude we needed. Finally we were at five thousand
feet and, as we were about two miles north of the sub-
marine, we straightened out for the run over the sub-
marine. Lieutenant Stark waved to Phil and then to me to
check if we were ready. We gave him a wave and kept our
cameras lined on him. We could see Stark unfastening his
79
safety belt and when we were directly over the submarine
he dove over the side. When he fell free of the plane, and
before he pulled the rip cord on his parachute, he looked
to me more like a traveling salesman about to make a
call. His parachute pack which was secured on his back
looked like a square briefcase, and under his left arm was
the large folded rubber boat with a wooden canoe paddle
tied to it. I don't think anyone has since jumped with as
much baggage as Lieutenant Stark carried with him on
that history-making jump.
Stark's plane went straight ahead to clear our two
photographic planes and we started to circle over Stark.
He was falling head first when he pulled his rip cord and
the parachute started to stream out of the pack. Then
with a quick burst, it filled with air and in perfect shape
tightened all the shroud lines as Stark was dangling under
it on a gentle glide to the sea.
When we saw the chute open and the sun shine on its
white canopy, we were sure we had no further worries.
But Stark seemed to remain motionless. We knew he
didn't have much time to inflate the boat. It seemed to us
like hours as he floated down toward the submarine. He
just hung there with no apparent attempt to blow up the
boat. My pilot asked me, by way of the inter-communica-
tion system, if he wasn't supposed to be inflating the boat.
I told him he certainly was and I couldn't understand it.
Stark was at three thousand feet now and his pilot, who
was watching him, started to make a long dive to get
down to where he could make a quick landing to pick him
up if he failed to open the boat. Something was definitely
wrong but what it was we didn't know. The chute had
opened perfectly and all shroud lines were right. Finally,
at about twenty-five hundred feet, Stark burst into action
and everyone was relieved. He opened the boat package
which hung loosely, like an old piece of canvas. Then, in
an instant, it started to take shape and filled out into a
80
perfectly shaped rubber boat. He swung the boat behind
him in a position where he could get it under him to land
in it when he struck the water.
During all this time, we were circling Stark and making
shots showing everything he did during his descent. The
submarine was directly under him. He was now looking
down at the sub and working his shroud lines to guide him
to the spot close to it where he wanted to land. The com-
mander of the submarine had put over a small boat with
two men in it for use only as a pick-up boat in case of a
bad landing.
By now we were very low and Stark was only about a
hundred feet off the water. He pulled the rubber boat
under him and in a few seconds he glided into the water.
The bottom end of the boat hit first and then Stark landed
in the middle of the boat on his back. There was quite a
splash, as Stark was falling faster than it seemed to us
from the air, and we were afraid he had burst through the
rubber bottom of the boat. But when the splash subsided
he was lying out flat in the boat and waving to us at only
a hundred feet from the submarine. The men on the sub
were lining the rail waving their hats and, I assume,
cheering, but the roar of the plane's engine prevented us
from hearing any commotion.
He sat up and with his paddle proceeded to make his
way over to the side of the sub, towing his parachute
which was floating on the water. As he came alongside the
submarine the men helped him over the curved side of
the ship. As the skipper of the submarine shook hands
with him we circled low to make our final shots which
completed my newspaper layout, and which were Phil
Coolidge's last films for Paramount Newsreel, to finish up
his story.
It was only after all this that we learned the reason the
jumper had dropped twenty-five hundred feet before he
started to inflate his boat. The compressed-air bottle
81
which he had secured in his belt had pushed into his stom-
ach with the take-up jerk of the parachute harness. This
had knocked him unconscious and he had dropped half
his distance before he regained his senses.
Another stunt feature had been completed and an his-
toric event was recorded for public consumption through
the medium of newspapers. Millions of people saw these
pictures and the newsreel shots. I doubt, however, that
even one person realized the stunt was just the dizzy idea
of a couple of newsmen looking for a picture story.
It is easily recognized that these stunt features were not
only interesting to the readers but certainly gave ine many
thrills which I will never forget. During the time I was in
the newspaper game I covered many stories but was lucky
enough to have all of them turn out as planned with no
accidents to mar the events.
I can remember one, however, that nearly resulted in a
drowning but, by being careful and planning for any mis-
hap, it was averted. The Goodyear dirigible had been
housed in a hangar at Dartmouth, Massachusetts, on the
southern New England coastline. I was invited to take a
flight on the dirigible to get a series of pictures from the
lighter-than-air ship. It was in the summer and, while a
series of air shots from a dirigible didn't seem to be a very
hot story, I went down and made a flight one morning.
While I was flying in the ship, I could see how well it
handled and that it could be flown slowly, at low altitudes
over the water. I had made several shots and then my
mind started to work to get something which would really
make unusual pictures. I came up with the idea of surf-
board riding behind a dirigible.
We arrived back at the hangar a little before noon. It
was a hot summer day with a good calm sea. When I got
out of the ship I talked about the surfboard idea with the
man who was in charge of publicity on the dirigible. He
82
said he thought it was a good one and was willing to try it
that afternoon if I wanted to. The surfboard rider was no
problem for there was a member of the dirigible ground
crew who had been riding a board behind a speedboat
most of the summer. He had a board and was willing to
try it.
As there was no way to get a rope up to the dirigible
from the water, we decided the best way to do the stunt
was to take the surfboard in the dirigible and lower it
down to the rider over the beach and then tow the rider
off the beach into the water. Knowing that the dirigible
required a long circle to turn around and not knowing
how good a swimmer the fellow was, I suggested that we
take a few life preservers with us which we could drop to
him in the event he fell off the surfboard.
The surfboard rider put on his bathing suit, went over
to the beach which was private and used by very few
people, and waited for the arrival by air of his surfboard.
We got about two hundred feet of good strong line and
securely fastened the surfboard to one end, securing the
other end in the cabin of the dirigible. Then we took
three life preservers for use in the event the rider got into
difficulty for we knew he might travel miles before we
could tow him around in a circle. With everything
checked, the commander gave the signal for the ground
crew to let go the hold-down ropes.
The two engines turned over slowly as we floated out of
the field and over to the beach. It was practically a dead
calm and we were moving no faster than a walk at about
fifty feet off the ground. When we arrived at the beach we
lowered the surfboard to the rider who was waiting and
anxious to try out this new sport which had never been
tried before.
He took the board and ran to the water's edge. Then,
with a good grip on the handlines, he waited for the diri-
gible to take on enough power to haul him into the water.
We played out about a hundred and fifty feet of line, made
it fast, and then the motors were speeded up.
The rope began to take up and the surfboard started
with a jerk into the water. The surfboard rider was mak-
ing history by taking the first surfboard ride behind a
dirigible. As I started to make pictures the skipper de-
cided to put the tail of the dirigible down more into the
picture. He raised the elevators to lift the nose, which
lowered the tail section into the top of the pictures. This
would identify the story because the tail section carried
the name of the dirigible. By now we were at least a mile
from shore. At this very moment out of nowhere came a
good gust of wind which sent the dirigible soaring into
the sky. The rope tightened. The surfboard started to
leave the water and travel skyward.
The rider let go. The surfboard went into the air fifty
or sixty feet. The rider was swimming in the water below,
over a mile off shore. With the rider's load off the dirigi-
ble it shot ahead, and in a matter of seconds the surfboard
was a half mile from the swimmer. One of the men cut
the rope and dropped the board into the sea thinking that
the rider could swim to it, but it was a long swim and the
rider was waving his arms to us to let us know he was hav-
ing trouble. All of us on the dirigible realized at once that
we were in trouble. The skipper, with a masterful stroke,
gave full power to the starboard motor and full rudder.
In a few seconds the huge lighter-than-air ship was head-
ing for the swimmer and coming closer to the water.
The life preservers we had taken with us were ready
and, as we passed over our swimmer, we dropped them
one at a time, spotting two about twenty-five feet in front
of him and one about ten feet behind. He changed his
wave from the frantic one of distress to a signal of recogni-
tion that he was now all right.
About this time a couple of power boats, attracted by
the maneuvers of the dirigible, saw us drop the life pre-
servers and they put on full speed to aid the swimmer and
take him ashore.
I had made all the pictures necessary for the story from
the dirigible but I still wanted a shot from the water level
showing the dirigible towing the surfboard rider. We
went back to the airfield and by the time we stepped off
die ship our surfboard rider arrived, none the worse for
his trip. He had been a little afraid when he thought of
swimming a mile or so to shore, but when we dropped the
life preservers he started to enjoy his experience.
The skipper told him that I had some good shots from
the dirigible but I also wanted to get a picture from a boat
on the water, of the surfboard being towed by the dirigi-
ble. He readily agreed to try again and said he would
have no fears this time as he would know that I was close
to him in a speedboat. I called a yacht club and hired my
boat. The stunt was on again. The dirigible towed the
surfboard rider along this time with no trouble and when
I had all the pictures I needed I waved to the skipper. In
a long circular turn he headed back to the beach, hauled
the rider up on the sand of the beach and dropped the
rope. This trip was a success and the rider was still on the
board when he landed on the dry sand.
It was another stunt another first.
I think the thriller of all stunts was one thought out
by Phil Coolidge but one which I missed because of an
out-of-town news story which took me to another location.
Phil had read about Dr. Picard's experiment in Europe,
in 1937, with small balloons tied together to give enough
lift to take him to the stratosphere. At about the same
time as this experiment, the Dewey and Almey Company
of Cambridge, Massachusetts, had started to manufacture
a new latex balloon which could be blown up to about ten
feet in diameter. These new balloons were to be used for
weather study and would be blown up with gas to about
85
four feet in diameter to lift radio sets to the upper air
levels which would send back the temperature and air
pressure by automatic controls. As the air got thinner the
balloons xvould expand, but the expansion possibilities of
these new balloons gave them terrific altitudes before they
would burst.
The publicity manager of the company had sent us
news releases on the new balloons and had told us that if
we had any ideas for use of them for publicity pictures,
they would be glad to furnish the balloons.
This all tied together in Phil's mind. He thought if Dr.
Picard was figuring on going up to the stratosphere by
using a series of small balloons for lifting power, it would
be possible to send a photographer aloft under a bunch
of these balloons and it would be the first time small bal-
loons had lifted a man off the ground.
He thought it over for a while, and with his mind work-
ing on the picture possibilities, he called the Dewey and
Almey Company. They promised all the balloons he
would need, at no charge. He arranged for a couple of
large hydrogen gas tanks to be delivered to Old Orchard
Beach. Then he remembered that in his New York office
on the City Staff was a young photographer named Al
Mingalone who was small and very light. This would be
the fellow to make the ascension. This ascension was
planned to go only to about a hundred feet and a rope
would be tied to the balloons and anchored on the
ground. Phil figured that from a hundred feet all the pic-
tures could be made which were necessary to tell the story
and Mingalone would be safely returned to earth again.
With everything figured out, he called his New York
office; gave them the details and said he would like Minga-
lone to start for Boston as soon as possible as the weather
would be good for several days and the story could be
made as soon as he arrived.
Phil met Mingalone in Portland, Maine, and they went
86
to Old Orchard Beach where the stunt was to be enacted.
Mingalone, a young man with plenty of nerve and camera
experience, was married and had three small children. He
took one good look at the beach and the wide open Atlan-
tic Ocean and, knowing that the next terra firma was
Europe, he began to think o his family and wonder what
might happen if something went wrong that he went
sailing out over that beautiful, blue ocean.
After a conference with Phil and his father Jake Coo-
lidge who was also an ace cameraman and now retired
they decided to move the stunt inland a little to be on the
safe side. All the equipment w r as moved to the Old
Orchard Golf Course which was about three miles from
shore.
Al Mingalone was strapped into a parachute harness,
which was to be fastened to the six-foot cords attached to
the balloons. One by one the balloons were filled with
hydrogen gas and tied in small bunches to a heavy sand-
bag that weighed about two hundred pounds. After about
twenty-two of the balloons had been inflated, they were
all tied to the top of the parachute harness that Mingalone
had donned. Two men held the top of the harness down
while Mingalone lay on the ground and made some movie
shots of the balloons, which were all grouped together
about ten feet over his head. It was decided that Minga-
lone was to take a hand-hold Eyemo camera with him.
This was a light, spring operated camera. He was to go
aloft until the rope stopped him and then make pictures
from the air while Phil made shots from the ground.
When Mingalone had used the hundred feet of film the
boys were to pull him down and reload the camera. Then
he would go up again for more shots. This was our plan,
but our story proved that the best made plans sometimes
go astray in practical application.
With twenty-two balloons tied to the parachute harness,
Mingalone decided to try it out to see if the balloons had
enough lifting power to take him aloft. The men holding
the harness let go. The balloons jerked the harness and
lifted the young cameraman about thirty feet, but then
he settled back to earth. More balloons were needed, so
six additional were inflated and tied to the harness. This
made a total of twenty-eight, and there was no doubt now
that Mingalone would go aloft.
A well known spectator at all aviation events on Old
Orchard Beach was Father James J. Mullen, pastor of St.
Margaret's Church at Old Orchard Beach. Jake Coolidge
had invited the priest to watch the stunt. Much kidding
went on while the balloons were being inflated as the boys
told Mingalone he had nothing to worry about now that
Father Mullen was present in case of accident. Many a
true word is spoken in jest, and while they were kidding,
they didn't realize how true their joking was to be.
Jake Coolidge gave Mingalone a pair of small scissors
and told him to put them in his pocket as they might
come in handy "just in case." He could cut the small cords
one by one which held the separate balloons. This was all
done with a lot of wisecracks which are always present at
a time like this.
Mingalone by now was beginning to get anxious to have
this stunt on its way. The parachute harness was chafing
his legs, and a number of low fog clouds had moved in
with the loss of the good light which had been present
when they started on the stunt. The main anchor rope
was tied to the bumper of a car and the other end to the
parachute harness. Everything was ready.
Giving his camera a final check for focus and lens set-
ting, Mingalone gave the last shout for the ground men to
release the balloons. Things were different now! The six
additional balloons had taken all the laziness from the
lifting action of the first try. He was going aloft now for
sure, and he started to grind out film as he left the ground
to show his ascent.
88
14
Phil was set up with another camera on the ground,
grinding out film, as the balloons carried Mingalone high
into space. Everything was now going as planned. The
mass of big balloons bounced against each other as they
carried the cameraman skyward to make a wonderful pic-
ture.
Jake and Father Mullen laughed as they watched Min-
galone grinding off film while he dangled fifteen or
twenty feet below the huge mass of balloons. The wind
had breezed up a little and the fog clouds were rolling in
from the ocean, but the light was still all right for pic-
tures.
Mingalone was up about a hundred feet when the
anchor rope on the car bumper tightened to a quick jerk.
Mingalone screamed as he saw the rope break and drop
back to earth. Those on the ground froze in horror as they
realized that Mingalone was on his way, with no rope
attached.
Father Mullen, an expert shot with a rifle, ran to the
car with Jake Coolidge and broke all speed records to the
Rectory where Father Mullen had a high powered rifle.
With this rifle, and plenty of shells, they started down
Route One in a southerly direction to overtake poor Min-
galone.
By now the fog clouds had started sprinkles of rain and
Mingalone could hear it beating on the canopy of balloons
over his head. He knew he was in real trouble. He lost all
interest in his photography and dropped his camera in a
field. As the camera weighed about nine pounds, this
helped to lighten the load carried by the balloons and he
gained more altitude.
He remembered the scissors Jake had given him and he
tried to climb up hand-over-hand on the parachute har-
ness to get at the small cords which were attached to the
balloons. He knew if he could reach these and cut away
six or seven of the balloons, one at a time, he would start
89
to settle back to earth. Being a photographer and not an
acrobat, he soon exhausted his strength. He just hung in
the harness and screamed when he saw anyone on the
ground.
There was only a gentle wind but Mingalone was trav-
eling along at the speed of the breeze and could see Route
One going along pretty fast under him. Jake and Father
Mullen were traveling under him on the highway but
every time they stopped to get out for Father Mullen to
take a shot at the balloons, Mingalone would go into an-
other fog cloud.
The runaway balloons carried the photographer down
along the coast to Biddeford, across Biddeford Pool and
back onto Route One, south of the city. Jake had lost time
going through the traffic in Biddeford, but he soon caught
up with the balloons again just south of Biddeford. There
was a small opening of clear sky and Father Mullen took
a shot at the balloons before Mingalone drifted into more
fog.
Mingalone had recognized Jake's car. When he heard
the shot and saw Father Mullen shooting he knew it was
his only chance. As he drifted into the next fog cloud, he
could hear a hissing sound above him and he was sure that
the shot had hit one of the balloons. The gas was escaping
but it didn't seem to make any difference in his steady
flight.
Each of the fog clouds seemed to cause rain, and he
could hear that steady beating over his head of the drops
pounding on the balloons. In each of the clouds he met
currents of air which swung him around violently.
By now he was nearing Wells Beach and was drifting
along at about twenty-four hundred feet in the air. As
he came out of a fog cloud he saw about a mile of clear sky
ahead, and he knew this would have to tell the story. If
Father Mullen didn't shoot him down in that stretch there
could be a fatal ending to his picture story.
90
Jake and Father Mullen had seen the same open sky
and had raced ahead. They stopped the car so the priest
could use it for a brace to give him an accurate shot, for
at the height of the target there was a possibility of hitting
Mingalone instead of the balloons. When Mingalone got
into range. Father Mullen took an accurate aim and,
allowing for the distance, got a few shots off in rapid suc-
cession.
He was an expert with a rifle and certainly proved it
with these shots. Jake, who was watching, saw Mingalone
start to gradually descend. They took a quick look over
the countryside and realized that at the slow speed of
descent plus the forward speed of the wind he would land
close to, or in a section of woodland. Jake drove his car to
the point where they figured he would come down and
then they waited to see where he would actually make his
landing.
The bullets had penetrated a number of the balloons so
gas was leaking out through the bullet holes. None of the
balloons had burst when hit, which was another factor
that helped to save Mingalone's life.
When Mingalone was down to about a thousand feet,
they were pretty sure of the exact spot where he would
land and they had to again get in the car, drive across
open fields, and wait. Slowly he came closer to earth and
Jake started to yell to him to have his knees bent when
he hit the ground, but Mingalone didn't worry about bent
knees all he wanted was to get a good handful of dirt
and rid himself of the parachute harness.
As he came close to the ground he started to loosen his
straps, making ready to drop the harness. At about a
twenty-five foot altitude he floated over the heads of Jake
and Father Mullen, to the edge of an open field, and set-
tled to earth as both men ran toward him. He made an
easy landing at the edge of a small pine woodlot, settling
9 1
down on his feet but being pulled off balance by the wind
tugging on the balloons.
He lay on his back on the ground, working on the har-
ness straps as fast as he could. Before Jake or the priest
could reach him he rolled over, legs in the air, and freed
himself of the harness. The balloons took the empty har-
ness back into the fog-clouded sky.
The spot where he landed was in back of Wells, Maine,
and just thirteen miles from Old Orchard Country Club
where he had started his wild ascent.
Mingalone was standing and shaking when Jake and
Father Mullen arrived at his side. The priest said, "Shake
hands with the guy who shot you down." Mingalone
assured them he was happy to see them both and to know
that Father Mullen was a crack shot. He said he had felt
pretty weak when he first heard the shots but immediately
realized they were being aimed at a target just over his
head.
As they watched the balloons going skyward into the fog
clouds, Mingalone began to grieve that he didn't wait
until the men had arrived before he let the balloons go,
as he wanted to take four of them home to his kids. How-
ever, it looked good to him to see them going on their
merry way while he stood firm, on the earth.
It was just another stunt feature when it started, but it
didn't end as planned. It would probably have ended in
the death of the photographer, if it had not been for the
expert marksmanship of Father James J. Mullen, pastor
of the church at Old Orchard Beach, who was interested
in news stunt features.
Chapter VII
WHILE I THINK that the greatest thrills in the news
photography game came from planning and working out
stunt features, there were always thrills in the regular big
news stories that were constantly breaking. Wrecks, fires
and floods all furnished thrills and good picture material.
Some were sad, and I had to stand helplessly by watching
people who were badly hurt or dying around me, but I
had to keep my mind on my camera and try to record the
scenes as they happened.
In the opening pages of this book, I spoke of the wintry
night when the S.S. Robert E. Lee struck the Mary Ann
Ledges off Manomet Point in Massachusetts Bay, which is
on the way to the Cape Cod Canal.
This was a story which brought thrills, hardship and
sorrow and one I will never forget. It all took place in
March, 1928, during a blinding blizzard which had been
drifting snow over the highways all day and had kept the
state highway crews busy trying to keep at least a one-lane
path cut through the drifts. The Robert E. Lee> a steel
ship, had left Boston for New York City via the Cape Cod
Canal. When the ship cleared Boston Harbor, it started
down across Massachusetts Bay. The snow had eased up
some and it looked as though it might clear in a few hours,
but the seas were running heavy and the wind was howl-
ing through the ship's superstructure.
93
The captain knew he had as his responsibility the safety
of the passengers and the ship, so he remained on the
bridge giving the orders for the course to the helmsman.
A short distance down the coastline the snowstorm took
on new vigor, and visibility was cut to zero. In good clear
weather this trip to the Canal was within sight of shore all
the way. A steady course from the flashing and whistling
buoy off Humarock Beach would take the ship close by
the flashing and gong buoy off Manomet Point, and then
on to the flashing and bell buoy off Peaked Cliff, where
she would change course a little to the west and run for
the entrance buoy of the Canal.
The skipper of the Robert E. Lee had made this run
night after night and knew it like a book, but on this trip
he was being pounded by everything the weatherman
could throw at him. He not only had his tide drift to cal-
culate and compensate for, but he was being tossed
around like a bottle cork by the mountainous seas in a
zero visibility that made it impossible for him to see a
buoy if he should pass it at a thirty foot distance. The
whistle, bell and gong on these buoys were almost useless
to him, for in this howling northeaster the sound was car-
ried away from him and the screaming winds set up an
opposition that silenced any buoy signal.
Members of the crew knew it was one of their roughest
trips and were at their stations, ready to obey any order
from the bridge in an instant. The engineroom had re-
ceived an order and had cut the ship's speed down soon
after the snow storm had taken on blizzard proportions.
This was the type of day that every newsman smelled
trouble, and was never away from a telephone where he
could be reached at a moment's notice. I had been listen-
ing to the weather reports on the radio and had all my
camera equipment loaded, ready to go at the first tingle
of the telephone bell. The Coast Guard knew of all the
94
ship sailings from Boston and they were alert and ready
for any distress calls.
Somewhere along the route of the Robert . Lee the
ship had been driven about a mile and a quarter west, or
inshore, from her regular course. As the lookouts were
desperately trying to locate the flashing white gong buoy
off Manomet Point, a terrible grinding and tearing sound
roared through the ship as the forward motion stopped.
The ship was hard and fast on Mary Ann Ledges. The
skipper, of course, at that instant didn't know his exact
position, but he did know that along the entire coastline
of Massachusetts Bay there was an unbroken line of Coast
Guard Life Saving Stations which were on the alert and
watching for trouble twenty-four hours a day, seven days
a week. He also knew that the rocks he had struck were
close to shore, so he immediately started to blow distress
signals on the ship's horn in the hope that a Coast Guard
Station lookout would hear it and send in word at once to
headquarters that a ship was in trouble off their station.
This would definitely locate the ship, and rescue opera-
tions would go into full swing at once.
The radio operator of the Robert E. Lee pierced the air
with the dreaded SOS distress signal which was copied
by all ships, Coast Guard Cutters and Boston headquarters
of the Coast Guard. While the SOS did not at first give
the exact location as Mary Ann Ledges, the Coast Guard
station at Manomet Point had called Boston to tell head-
quarters that a ship was aground on the ledges, as their
lookout had heard the distress signal blown on the ship's
horn.
The Coast Guard wireless at Boston had sent out an
order quieting all other stations, and then got in com-
munication with the radio operator on the Robert E. Lee
to tell him that his ship was on Mary Ann Ledges off the
Manomet Point Station, and that all possible rescue craft
was already on its way to help.
95
While the seas were running high and smashing against
the stranded ship, they were not pounding the ship on the
rocks. The passengers and crew at that moment were not
in immediate danger, as it didn't appear that the ship
would break up for some little time.
The Acting Captain of the Coast Guard station at
Manomet Point was William H. Cashman. While news-
papermen were battling the blinding snow storm to get
to the lifesaving station, Captain Cashman had taken
the crew^ of the station and made several unsuccessful
attempts to launch their large surfboat off the beach. The
mountainous seas were rolling in on the beach six to ten
feet high. With the crew r wet and exhausted from their
heroic attempts, Cashman told Boston headquarters it was
impossible at that time to launch the boat and get to the
grounded ship.
The crew, tired and downhearted, returned to the sta-
tion to put on dry clothing and rest for a while. They
knew the only boat they had was this large surfboat which
had to be launched from the beach and rowed to the ship,
but they knew that the Coast Guard stations at Province-
town had non-sinking power lifeboats, and that these
crews were already on their way across Massachusetts Bay.
As all this rescue work was being set in motion, I was
trying to get through to Manomet Point in my car. On
two different occasions I drove into drifts which had filled
in across the road, and was stuck securely in the snow. I
had to get out, shovel the snow away and then, covered
with snow, get back into the car to break my way through
the cleared road. I arrived at the Manomet Point station
around ten o'clock in the evening, after walking through
snow which had drifted in places almost to hip height.
The mournful groan of the stranded ship's horn could
still be heard at intervals after I arrived, as the captain
was sounding the horn to allow small rescue cutters to
locate the ship in the storm. I was the second newspaper-
96
man to arrive and by midnight the little lifesaving station
was the overnight haven for about six more. Of course
there were no sleeping accommodations for the newsmen,
and Captain Cashman told us it would be impossible to
make an attempt to launch the surfboat until the wind
and seas had subsided some. He knew it would not be
before morning at best. He had talked with the Boston
headquarters of the Coast Guard, where the radio oper-
ator was in constant communication with the ship. The
ship was not pounding, and its chances of breaking up
during the night were very slight. The captain of the Rob-
ert E. Lee felt the passengers were safe on the ship during
the night.
Knowing that there would be no action during the
night, I looked around for a place where I could get some
sleep, for by then I was pretty weary. I went into different
parts of the station. The only warm spot was the kitchen,
where a hot fire was going in the stove and the ever pres-
ent coffee pot was steaming on the back.
The floor was soaking wet from snow that had been
cairied in on the snow-covered newsmen and members
of the crew who were outside on patrol. They were con-
stantly being relieved, as the snow and gale made it im-
possible for a man to remain on watch outside for long
periods of time.
I spotted a long wooden shelf along one wall in the
kitchen and decided it would be my resting place for the
night. I made a pillow support for my head out of a heavy
pair of gloves which were not too dry, and a changing
bag which I always carried in my camera case. With my
overcoat spread over me to keep off the draft which
whirled through the kitchen every time the door was
opened, and my hat over my eyes to keep out the light, I
fell asleep and slept until about six o'clock in the morn-
ing.
When I finally got my eyes open and tried to get some
97
feeling in my body which was practically numb from the
hard board shelf, I found that the snow had stopped and
the wind had lost much of its intensity. It was still dark.
I could hear the waves smashing on the shore.
Captain Cashman was up and pouring himself another
cup of coffee. I knew he was exhausted when I went to
sleep, and after that he had been up all night. His face
was white. I could see he was under tension because the
ship was in trouble close to his station and yet he couldn't
get to her to try to do his part. I tried to comfort him by
telling him the ship was not in any great danger now, and
she was too far off shore for any attempt to use breeches
buoys. He knew all this, but his pride was hurt that the
storm had been so severe he couldn't launch his surfboat.
Everyone knew there wasn't a coast guard crew in the
world which could have launched the surfboat that night.
The entire crew of the Manomet Point station was dog
tired that morning, as none of them had slept. They con-
tinually walked the floor and drank coffee, waiting until
daylight broke so they could see the ship. The lights on
her could be seen by this time and every once in a while
a piercing beam of light from a searchlight would streak
through the darkness.
We knew some of the rescue cutters were laying off near
the wreck for lightbeams were streaking out into the
night from different spots. The sea was still running in
mountainous waves and it would be impossible for any
kind of large boat to go alongside the stricken ship.
Captain Cashman was a good weather observer. He re-
peatedly went to the window, then to the door, then over
to the barometer trying to detect some let-up in the wind.
He said he figured the wind would blow itself out by
eight or nine o'clock as the barometer had started to rise,
and usually after a bad snow storm the wind died in a few
hours after the snow stopped falling.
The newspapermen were all beginning to stir around
98
by now. The usual gripes were being passed out by all of
us, with the worn out statement from one of them, "There
must be an easier way to earn a living than this."
However, if we were all offered easier positions in an
office, not a man would even think of accepting it. We
were the same group of veterans who showed up on all
big stories and we had newsprint in our blood. Nothing
could ever change us. Some had spent a nice comfortable
night sleeping curled up on hard kitchen chairs, while
others had found a dry corner on the floor to sleep in. As
a group, we looked as though we had just crawled out of a
freight car, ready to start asking the first passerby for a
handout.
A little after seven o'clock, the daylight brought us the
first view of the Robert E. Lee. The ship was on an even
keel and looked like almost any other ship which might
be at anchor off shore. The waves were striking her on the
portside and the spray was flying well up to the bridge.
Captain Cashman was watching the ship through his
binoculars and identifying the different cutters which had
arrived during the night to lay some distance away from
the ship riding out the heavy seas.
Cashman finally spotted a small lifesaving power boat
and called to the other members of the station, pointing
it out as the Wood End boat which had arrived from
Provincetown, This was a small power boat, of the non-
sinkable type, from the Wood End Life Saving Station at
Provincetown. The crew had taken this small boat out in
the height of the storm and had crossed Massachusetts
Bay to the wreck, a distance of about sixteen nautical
miles. They were still taking a beating from the high seas
which carried it up into sight and then down in a trough
where it couldn't be seen for five or ten seconds. We
watched the boat for a few minutes through the binocu-
lars and decided that this crew was earning a harder living
than we newspapermen, as they had taken the beating all
99
night through the blinding storm, were still at it, and
would be for a good many hours to come.
The fact that the Wood End boat was out there made
Captain Cashman worry, for he wanted to be there, doing
his part. But their situation was entirely different because
of the fact that the Wood End boat was built for this kind
of sea and could take it. It was not launched from a beach
but was always in the water, tied to a wharf in a sheltered
spot where the crew could board it.
Captain Cashman told his men he was going to make
another try just as soon as he thought it possible to launch
the boat. The men were tired and weary, but were all
willing to try it when Cashman gave the order. He knew,
after watching the boats near the wreck, that the waves
were still so high he couldn't get alongside the ship yet.
He told his men to keep an eye on the activities around
the ship, and as soon as it looked as though the sea was
calm enough for a small boat to go alongside, he was
going to try to make it.
The cook at the station started to set the large table in
the kitchen. He put a big frying pan on the stove and cov-
ered the bottom of it with strips of bacon. Soon the fumes
filled the room and, like a medicine administered, the
crew and newsmen took on new life. He had cooked oat-
meal and started to serve in relays. By the time we had
finished this, he had a large platter filled with fried eggs
and bacon. I have eaten bacon and eggs many times before
and since, but never have they tasted so good. By now
everyone was feeling brighter. We knew the passengers
and crew were still in no immediate danger so the atmos-
phere in the station became much more cheerful. How-
ever, had we known what was going to happen to some of
those boys in a few hours, we wouldn't have been joking,
for this delicious meal was the last one for three of the
crew members who were laughing with us.
After we had finished breakfast, the wind started to
100
slacken considerably but the heavy seas were still pound-
ing in on the beach and a launching was still impossible.
Captain Cashman decided that with the tide change the
sea would ease down some and he would make an attempt
to launch the surfboat to go out to the wreck. He was sure
he had nothing to worn* about after he got clear of the
waves which were breaking on the beach,
A little betore noon the sea had moderated some and
Captain Cashman asked the crew if they were willing to
try the launching and they all agreed to try it. They
donned their rubber boots, oilskin pants and coats, and
strapped on life preservers. We could feel the tension in
the air as the crew prepared for the trip. Everyone present
knew it was going to be dangerous. The iciness of the
water was a hazard in itself. The captain led his crew to
the boathouse where the surfboat was stored, and started
to get the boat equipment in order for the launching.
Now that the wind had died down, the air temperature
was just a little above freezing and about fifty or sixty of
the local inhabitants had bundled themselves up in warm
clothing to hike down to the station. They knew the surf-
boat would go out as soon as it was possible, and they
wanted to see the event. Among the group were two
fishermen w r ho were land bound on account of the high
seas. There w r as a lot of talk among the watching natives
as to the advisability of attempting to launch the boat in
the high rolling seas which were still piling in on the
shore. They all had confidence in Captain Cashman as
they had seen this skipper of the station in action before,
and knew that he and his crew could accomplish this feat
if anyone could.
All the newspapermen were lined up along the beach
with a camera angle which would show the launching and
at the same time show the Robert E. Lee hard on the
rocks in the background.
Cashman led his crew, with the surfboat, to the water's
101
edge. Then with his knowledge of waves and his skill, he
gave the command, and the crew launched the boat and
started to row. The boat rode the high waves in good style
but we could see from the way the boat rode into the air
and down in ihe troughs, that the waves were even higher
than they seemed from the shore.
The boat had rowed off shore about a quarter of a mile
in these heavy seas when we saw one huge wave lift the
bow of the boat and turn it end over end, throwing the
entire crew into the water. The boat floated upside down.
The look-out at the station, who had been watching the
launching from the tower, saw what had happened and
ran to the cabinet where the signal flags were stored. In
an instant he had clipped the coded flags together "Boat
Upset," and had run to the flagpole to hoist the signal.
The instant the signal was run up, someone produced a
signal pistol with red signal flares. Three of these were
fired into the air to attract the attention of the cutters
and small coast guard boats.
Immediately the shore crowd, which had been watching
the launching, went into action and everyone seemed to
be running in a different direction. John F. Horgan, a
State Police Officer attached to the Norwell Barracks,
with two of the natives, Russell Anderson and Elmer
Harper, ran to a small shack near the shore and dragged
an old fishing dory from the building. The dory hadn't
been in the water for some time, but that meant nothing
to them at this point. If it would float they were going to
make an attempt to rescue the men, who they knew could
live in the cold water for only a matter of minutes.
Anderson and Harper manned the oars and Officer
Horgan shoved the dory out into the water. Then he
jumped in and started to bail, for water started to leak in
through all the seams. As Horgan bailed, the two natives
started to row to the men floating in the water.
The seas had swept these men close to a rock-infested
102
stretch of water but Anderson and Harper knew the shore
like a book. They navigated the dory to the nearest man
floating in the waves. Horgan made a quick grab as the
dory lurched in close to the man and, with almost super-
human strength, he hauled him into the boat. The next
man they started for was Captain Cashman and by this
time his head had dropped into the icy water. Horgan
grabbed him and hauled him in. This was beginning to
load the dory as five men were in it now and two of these
were motionless. The first rescued was conscious, but
Cashman appeared to be dead. A third man was not too
far away so Horgan started to bail water again as the oars-
men navigated the dory close to the floating victim who
was still swimming, with his head out of water. Horgan
repeated his feat for the third time and then the dory
started for shore.
During all this time the dory would sometimes be high
on a wave and in plain sight of the watchers on the shore,
and then sometimes down into the trough of a wave and
out of sight.
The women and men who had left the instant the surf-
boat upset, were now running back to the beach. They
had telephoned for every doctor in the vicinity, for ambu-
lances, and for the fire department with its rescue appa-
ratus. Some of the women were now carrying blankets and
the men were carrying bottles of liquor to be used as
stimulants.
As the rescue dory started to near the shore, another
State Police officer, who had just arrived, started to run
into the water to help land the dory. He was followed by
at least six other men who knew that the dangerous part
of the landing was as the dory neared shore. These men
were in the water up to their waists, with no thought of
their clothing or themselves. It was a joint effort on the
part of everyone to save the lives of those Coast Guard
men who had risked their lives in their tour of duty.
103
The Instant the dory hit the beach, the three rescued
men were turned over to waiting doctors who were able
to sa\e two oi them, but Captain Cashman was beyond the
point where medical aid could save him.
Horgan and his men turned the dory over to empty the
water and went right back for more, while the group on
shore did everything possible for the rescued men they
had brought in.
Two lobster fishermen, w T ho had just started out from
the harbor to see the condition of their traps, were told of
the accident by a coast guard cutter and they swung their
boats into full speed for the scene of the rescue. The large
cutters were helpless, as the water was too shallow at the
rescue point for the ships to operate, and the cutter crews
didn't know the rocky area well enough to attempt a
rescue with the smaller boats which were carried on the
large cutters.
The lobstermen knew every patch of rocks, for they
had set their traps around them, and in a matter of min-
utes they were hauling coast guard men into their boats.
The dory rescue crew picked up one more crewman
from the water and then returned to the beach. The surf-
boat was still floating bottom up and had four members
of the crew huddled on it with their feet in the water.
These men were taken off by the lobster boats and rushed
ashore.
When the final check was made, three of the coast guard
lifesaving crew which had put out from the Manomet
Point Station were drowned and the others rescued. Four
of them were saved by the heroic crew headed by State
Police Officer Horgan and his oarsmen, Anderson and
Harper.
During the afternoon the seas moderated considerably.
The cutters removed passengers and most of the crew
from the Robert E. Lee and landed them ashore, none
the worse for their experience. Later the ship itself was
104
hauled off into deep water by tugs and brought to Boston
for repairs.
This story which started with a shipwreck on Mary Ann
Ledges was dwarfed by the dramatic events of the rescue
which unfolded before the eyes of the newspapermen on
the beach.
105
Chapter VIII
FIRES ARE ALWAYS interesting subjects for the
newspaper photographer but very few of them are of the
type to make national news material. The average tene-
ment house fire is of news value only to the local news-
paper, and this is also true of the small business block.
In order to make a fire story of national importance
from a news picture point of view it must be either spec-
tacular with huge columns of smoke and flame, a large
building or institution with large numbers of people in-
volved, or something unusual such as a ship afire at a pier
or a large area of buildings which threatens a city. Any of
these would be of interest nationally, and were about the
only types I would leave the office to cover.
One of the most spectacular fires which I covered was
on the Boston waterfront. The alarm was sounded from
the Mystic Docks in the Charlestown section of Boston,
When an alarm came in from that section we always
started immediately and never waited for a second or
third alarm. I was one of the first photographers on the
scene. Upon arriving, I saw smoke pouring from the
hatches of the Danish freighter, the Laila. One fireboat
had arrived and was just directing the first streams of
water on the ship. The land fire department was on hand
in full force, but there was little they could do except to
keep the pier wet down. This first fireboat had sent in
orders for a general alarm for all fireboats, as they realized
106
just how serious the situation was. As flames roared from
the hatches, I looked over the area for the best location
for pictures to show the fire; and also the fireboats in the
foreground pouring tons of water on the blaze.
I ran along to another wharf which projected out oppo-
site the fiaming ship and decided to center my shots from
there. I took one picture and then waited a few minutes
until more fireboats arrived, to give the scene as much
action as possible. It seemed as though the one fireboat
was getting nowhere with the blaze, for every minute it
was getting worse. \\Tien I arrived smoke was coming
from only one of the forward holes, but now smoke and
flames were pouring out of all openings the full length of
the ship. At times it was so thick it was hard to see the
ship.
Three more fireboats arrived and took up their posi-
tions. As I waited for them to start throwing their streams,
one of the boats blew a few short whistles and all the fire-
boats left the center of the ship and moved to a point off
the bow, throwing their streams over the bow onto the
ship.
This gave me a long shot of the ship broadside, with
the fireboats pumping tons of water over the bow. I put
the camera up to my eye to shoot, and at about the instant
I was ready to trip the shutter, the fire did it for me, for
there was a terrific blast. The shock of this blast not only
tightened the muscles in my hand enough to automati-
cally trip the camera shutter, but it slid me back about
two feet on the pier and then sat me down, not too gently.
The ship was now a roaring inferno with huge orange and
blue-red flames piercing the heavy yellow smoke. For the
first time I realized the ship was loaded with chemicals.
Pieces of flying debris started to land in the water and
around the pier where I stood. Now I knew why the fire-
boats had left the spot in front of me and moved down to
the bow. I made a couple more quick shots, rushed to a
taxi driver to send him back to my office with the film
107
holders, and I telephoned to give them the captions for
the pictures.
When the explosion picture was developed, it showed
pieces of debris landing in the water close to the pier
where I was standing. It was learned later, from the agents
of the line, that the ship had been loaded with nitrate.
After the fire, the ship was almost a total loss and was list-
ing badly at the pier. The smoke and flames, coupled with
the fireboats, made a spectacular series of pictures.
In the iggo's at Fall River, Massachusetts, there was a
large fire involving many buildings. It was in the winter
months and the Fall River officials sent out a general
alarm for help. I started down over the road in the early
evening with Jake Coolidge who was then New England
cameraman for Paramount Newsreel. On the way, as we
topped the speed limit most of the time, we passed all
types of fire equipment being sent to the fire from towns
as far away as Boston. While fire engines seem to be trav-
elling fast when seen going through city streets with bells
ringing and whistles blowing, out on the main highways
in the open country they lose much of their superior
speed, and the average car has very little trouble passing
them.
When we were approaching Fall River we could see the
smoke and reflection in the sky, and knew we still had
plenty of fire for photographs. The wind was blowing
hard and the flames were being fanned from one building
to another.
We drove up to the fire on the windward side. With our
press cards ever present, we worked up to a parking spot
close to the ruins at the starting point of the fire. From
here it was a case of walking, but the flames were making
such headway that it was quite a jaunt to the leading
edge. We hiked along to the edge of the fire and were
going to start shooting pictures there, when Jake decided
it would be better to go up to the next street and wait for
108
the fire to arrive to get shots as it crossed the street to
other buildings.
We went along about two hundred feet and set up cam-
eras at a street corner to await the arrival o the flames.
One of the local officers of the fire department saw us go
by the fire and set up a distance away to wait for it to
arrive. He didn't seem to like the idea that we thought
the fire department wasn't going to stop the fire before it
crossed the next street. He came up to us and asked if
we thought it was going that far. When I assured him we
thought the fire might not only cross the street where we
were, but it looked to us that it might cross a few more,
he was annoyed and gave us a few nasty remarks. Jake was
a veteran in the field and always had an answer. He told
the official he didn't blame him for getting peeved that
he should do everything he could to keep it in his city, and
not let the other towns get a crack at it.
The fire roared along as we had figured and we got
some beautiful pictures as the flames worked into the
buildings, then jumped the street, and went down
through the next block. With the high winds roaring
through the city during the early part of the fire, there
wasn't a fire department in existence which could have
stopped its advance. But during the night the wind died
down some and shifted its direction, to drive the fire back.
The fire fighters took advantage of this change in wind
and in a few hours had it under control.
I sent my first pictures back to the Boston Office and
stayed all night making shots. In the morning, as soon as
the daylight was bright enough to enable me to get long
shots of the smoking ruins, I completed my picture story
and made a fast trip back to Boston.
During my newspaper career, I covered a number o
stories on President Franklin D. Roosevelt. During his
early years in the White House, his two sons John and
Franklin were students at Groton School in Massachu-
109
setts. The President made a few trips each year to visit
them.
Groton is a very exclusive school and the head master
had no good feelings for newspapermen. We had tried on
several occasions to get into the grounds to make pictures
of the President with his sons, but we were always stopped
by police who were posted at the gates by the school
officials.
Before one of the trips planned by the President, a few
of the newsmen decided to go out with me to make
another attempt to break down the rules and get permis-
sion to go into the grounds to photograph the President
with his sons. We went out the day before the President's
scheduled visit and met the head master. He was very
cold in his reception. I tried to impress upon him the fact
that President Roosevelt made national news every time
he moved, and that a series of pictures made inside the
school grounds would make national publicity for the
school.
This made no visible impression on him and after I had
given him every reason I could think of, as to why he
should allow the newsmen into the school, I ended by
saying that after all Mr. Roosevelt was President of the
country and I knew he would have no objection to posing
inside the grounds.
The head master had listened but said nothing. When
I had completed my sales talk, he turned to me and said,
"While Mr. Roosevelt might be the President of the
United States, he is only a visiting parent here, and our
newspaper restrictions will be in effect tomorrow."
There was no doubt left in our minds that we would
be barred from the grounds of the school the next day, so
I decided to figure out some method to get my pictures of
the President at Groton School.
Bright and early the next morning I went to Groton
and finally located young Franklin, the President's son.
no
I knew him quite well, and he was getting a kick out of
the fact that the head master was able to keep all national
newsmen out of the school. I went over the program of
activities planned for the day, and finally Franklin came
up with an idea. At a scheduled time, the President would
be down at the boathouse to see the school crew. As the
school did not own the river, they couldn't keep me off
and I could get my pictures from a boat.
To further help me out, Franklin got his canoe and
took it to a spot where I could get it without the other
newsmen seeing me.
He told me how far down the river the boathouse was
located, and I promised him I would be near it when the
President arrived. The location was quite a distance down
the river from the highway and a couple of bends in the
river hid it completely from the view of anyone, other
than those on the school grounds.
The President arrived at the school, stopped his car out
on the highway to pose for pictures, and then drove into
the grounds. The newsmen scattered, some having their
own ideas of how they were going to get by the guards
and into the grounds. Others rushed back to Boston with
their pictures, as they figured none could be made inside
the school.
At the proper time, I went to the canoe and shoved off
into the stream. I set my camera, and then slowly paddled
down the river to the boathouse. As I neared the boat-
house I saw that my picture was all set for me and ready
to snap. On the float was the President and his two sons,
and the officials of the school. The secret service men were
the first to see me and recognized me at once. Then the
President saw me, and with a broad smile on his face,
waved as I took the pictures.
I returned the canoe and rushed back to the office with
the pictures. On several occasions after that I have met
young Franklin and he always laughed and called me the
sea-going photographer.
in
Chapter IX
IN MY EARLY DAYS of newspaper photography I was
introduced to molasses in such a way that even to this day
every time anyone mentions the thick brown gooey stuff
my mind pictures one of the most horrible disasters I
ever photographed.
It was in January 1919, while I was still on the Boston
Post; when Joe Carlin, assistant city editor, came running
into the darkroom looking for a photographer in a rush. I
was the only man there and was busy finishing up some
photos I had made during the morning before going to
lunch. In a very excited voice he told me that someone
had just called in and said there was an explosion on Com-
mercial Street near the Charlestown bridge, and that a
large number of people had been killed and injured. He
told me to drop everything I was doing and get down
there as fast as I could, get some pictures, and then call
him from there before I came back.
Although it was winter, that day was fairly warm and
the streets were wet but had a light coating of slush. I put
on a pair of rubbers, got my coat, hat and camera and
started down over the two flights of stairs to the street,
taking them three at a time.
I stopped the first taxi I saw outside the building, told
the driver there had just been a bad explosion on Com-
mercial Street and to step on it. We zigzagged through
traffic until we reached the waterfront where police cars,
fire engines and ambulances were coming from every di-
rection with their sirens screaming. I went as far as I
could in the taxi and then started to run.
As I weaved in through the ambulances and police cars
I was met by men running from the scene, who were
covered with stuff that looked to me like grease, and then
I began to detect the heavy odor of molasses.
Before me lay an incredible scene, for everything was
covered with a heavy layer of sticky molasses. Rescue work-
ers were out in the middle of it, helping men and women
out of the messy substance and carrying others out on
stretchers. I didn't know how deep the ooze was, but it
looked to be two or three inches, and I had to make my
pictures in the middle of it where the rescue work was
being done. There was not a sign of fire, but buildings
were demolished all around me and everyone was rushing
around dripping in the dark brown goo.
Before I could really cover the story I had to know what
had happened and where all this molasses had come from,
so I ran to a fire truck where a fireman was trying to wipe
the stuff from his face and hands so he could go back to
the rescue work. He told me that a huge tank of 2,300,000
gallons of crude molasses had exploded in one of the
buildings and a thirty-five foot wave of the stuff had rolled
along the street, knocking down buildings like bowling
pins and smothering and killing all in its wake. He
pointed to the building where it had started and I was on
my way, for now I knew what had happened and why the
buildings were wrecked.
Since I had to get into the gooey mess there was no
need for trying to be careful, as everyone was so covered
with it I couldn't tell the rescuers from those being res-
cued. I made two steps into the ooze and lost both rubbers,
as they stayed where I stepped out of them. I was wearing
low shoes and every step I took I slid about six inches,
with the molasses rolling up to the tops of my shoes and
filling them.
I noticed everyone was walking with a skiing action and
I found out immediately why they were sliding their feet
and not attempting to lift them as they walked. I had lost
my rubbers and nearly lost my shoes. After adopting the
skiing technique and sliding my feet, I was able to make
some progress. The covering of molasses was so thick it
filled everything and looked like a big, black shiny lake.
I was walking on what I thought was the sidewalk, but
every once in a while my foot would drop as I walked off
the curbstone and went in up to my ankles. My trousers
were stuck to my legs. The bottom of my overcoat had
taken on a generous supply and it too was sticking to my
legs. By this time I had made up my mind that if I could
get out of the mess with my pictures and only have the
goo up to my knees I would be lucky.
Near the center of the wrecked buildings I could see a
group of rescuers and a priest, so I thought this would be
my first picture possibility. I wasn't worrying about gen-
eral views for I knew I could make them later. My first
pictures must be devoted to the rescue work, and as I
neared the group I could see firemen and civilians prac-
tically swimming in the molasses, trying to get a couple
of men out of the wreckage of one of the buildings. These
men were pinned in the debris and were covered with the
brown goo.
I learned that this building, which was now a mass of
torn and splintered boards, was the City Paving Depart-
ment building, and when the wave of death hit it, the city
employees were eating lunch there. These were the men
the rescue crew was trying to save.
I started to shoot pictures of the rescue and showed
the men being pried loose and carried to waiting am-
bulances. As the rescuers carried them, long molasses
streamers were dripping from their clothes, hands and
114
faces. The rescuers had to wipe it from their faces so
they could breathe and see. The men who had survived
managed to hold their breath long enough for the big
wave of molasses to pass and then they were able to clear
their mouths and noses so they could breathe.
As I looked around for more shots I could see a small
thrashing mound in the street, and then it was still. I
found it was one of the many horses which was caught in
the death-dealing wave. Some of the men who were still
alive were crawling. They were in so much of the sticky
stuff that they couldn't break away to stand up, for it
held them like quicksand. All through the gooey area
were small mounds with pieces of clean canvas or blan-
kets over them, and I knew these were men and women
who were dead when the rescuers arrived.
As I worked around in the sticky mess I was fearful of
a fall which, if my camera struck the ground, would put
me out of business. Organized groups were starting to
arrive to help. A large group of sailors and doctors from
ships in the Navy Yard across the bridge went into action
with clean cloths and stretchers.
The elevated railway ran overhead along the street.
The structure was bent and part of the tracks were thrown
into the street from the weight of the first big wave of
molasses. Here I found a miracle had taken place. At the
moment the explosion took place and the huge wave
struck the elevated structure, a train loaded with passen-
gers was passing. It cleared so close ahead of the wreck-
age of the structure that the rear car had molasses
spattered over it. The weight and adhesive pull of this
wave of molasses had toppled the buildings into the street
as it receded.
It is hard for a person who hasn't seen a disaster of
this type to believe how John Public will wade in to help
the sufferers. Well dressed men, along with truck drivers
who had been in the area and heard of the disaster
"5
pitched in to aid in rescue work. All of them were cov-
ered from head to foot with the sticky material which
consigned their clothing to the rag bag when they got
home.
I made two dozen pictures and then started out of the
mess. During the entire time I had to keep my hands free
of the molasses so that I wouldn't smear my camera and
caption cards. The stuff had worked up well above my
knees. I was about exhausted from pulling and sliding
my feet, and carrying around the weight of the molasses
that was on, and inside, my overcoat. I worked my way to
dry ground at the edge of the disaster and found a fire-
man who had a hose connected to a hydrant. He was doing
nothing but washing off the feet and legs of those coming
out of the area. He washed some of it from my legs and
coat, but the greater part remained.
I called my office from a small store nearby to give them
information concerning the type of pictures I had taken,
and they told me to stay there, that they were sending the
office boy to pick up my pictures and he would bring
me two freshly loaded magazines which would give me
twenty-four more plates to work with.
After I received the plates I was ready for another trip
into the messy, slippery sea of molasses. I had enough pic-
tures of wreckage and rescue, so I started to look for hu-
man interest shots.
I found a man with a pail trying to bail the stuff out
of his cellar. The wave had broken his cellar windows and
dumped about three feet of the stuff into his house. His
building was located on a slight slope so he could bail it
out of the cellar door and it would run down into the
street. You can imagine the trouble he was having, for it
was so thick and gooey it wouldn't pour and it was a case
of holding the pail while the molasses strung out in a
large streamer. He was very much disturbed about the
whole thing as he had just installed a new oil-burning
116
heater and this heater was now submerged in molasses.
I went over to the edge of the seawall and there a water-
fall of molasses was rolling into the harbor, with about
a six inch flow the whole length of the wall. The harbor
was brown, and remained that way for months.
The white coast guard cutters in the Navy Yard, and
the gray naval vessels, were all wearing a wide brown
waterline with streaks of yellow where passing crafts had
sent a wave up on their sides which thinned the molasses
to a lighter color.
After the injured and the bodies of the dead were re-
moved, the fire department went to work with hose lines
of high pressure, in an attempt to thin out the sea of mo-
lasses. A trench was dug through part of the harbor edge,
and hose lines thinned out a channel so the stuff could run
into the harbor. Large pumps were brought in and at-
tempts were made to pump out the cellars, but in most
cases hose lines had to thin out the gooey stuff before the
pumps could handle it. It was days after the disaster be-
fore the death count was completed, for as the cellars were
pumped out and washed, more bodies were recovered.
The final toll of the molasses disaster gave a figure of
over twenty dead and about fifty injured. Among these
casualties also were dozens of horses which were caught
in the busy area when the low rumbling sound of the
explosion gave a split-second warning of the death wave
that followed.
On many stories covered by newsmen Old Lady Luck
plays a big part. There was a story in 1932 where I had
just such a lucky break, which enabled me to get a picture
which was important enough for The New York Times to
break their tradition and give me a by-line on page one.
A total eclipse of the sun was to take place in August
of that year and the Times wired me to arrange to go up
into the area where it would be visible and make a layout
117
of the large portable college observatories which were
being set up in the section.
The total eclipse was to be visible through a narrow
strip of the New England states, extending down from
Canada through a section of New Hampshire and Maine,
and then crossing Massachusetts Bay and out to sea over
the tip of Cape Cod.
Most of the colleges had sent scientists to New England
to look over the area and had finally decided to locate
around Conway, New Hampshire and Fryeburg, Maine,
all within a ten or fifteen mile section.
I went up to the area about two weeks before the
eclipse was to take place, and spent two days photograph-
ing the different college installations and talking with
the astronomers who were in charge of the different ob-
servatories.
As I looked at the tremendous telescopes and equip-
ment which were being set up by them to get their eclipse
photos, I began to wonder what kind of chance I would
have of getting anything usable with my camera equip-
ment. All I knew about it was that there would be a
shadow on the sun and it would get dark. In talking with
the astronomers at Fryeburg, they told me what to expect
in the line of pictures, and the time it would take from
the first shadow appearance to the total eclipse, when the
sun would be completely in shadow.
These scientists had picked this area after looking over
the terrain of the country and, as the main ranges of the
White Mountains were north of the section, they figured
any small clouds might be held off by the mountains.
I made a layout feature of all the different college set-
ups with the men who would operate them on eclipse
day, and then located a perfect large flat field where a
plane could be landed, on the outskirts of Fryeburg. I got
permission from the owner of the field to land a plane on
the field the morning of the eclipse, and then I returned
118
to Boston and shipped my negatives to the New York
office.
I knew several astronomers at Harvard University and
I made a trip to Harvard Observatory to talk with them
about the eclipse. They produced pictures of total eclipses
which they had made from different parts of the world,
and from these photos I could see all the different stages,
from the start to the total and then back to full sun again.
They also gave me the time that would elapse from the
start to the total eclipse, and told me that the sun would
be moving across the camera film at an angle, from the
time the eclipse started right through the entire eclipse.
This gave me an idea to try for a complete series of pic-
tures, from the start to the total eclipse on one camera,
and then have a second camera with the longest telephoto
lens I could get to make single shots.
I knew the duration and the start of the eclipse, so I
set up a camera on a tripod at home and pointed it at the
sun. I knew the direction in which the sun was moving
so, in the ground glass focusing panel on the camera, I
set the sun in one corner at the time the eclipse was to
start. This, of course, was done a week before the event
and was merely to trace the movement, which would be
the same on the day of the eclipse.
Leaving the camera rigidly set on the tripod, I watched
the sun move on the ground glass of the camera, and with
a grease pencil I put a dot on the glass where the sun ap-
peared at five minute intervals up to the time the total
eclipse would take place. I found these spots were in a
line, equally spaced apart.
Using this system on the actual eclipse, I knew I could
get a series of six pictures at five minute spots, which
would show the sun from the first contact of the shadow
to full total eclipse, all on the same film.
My next problem was to get the correct exposure for
the series, and a lens filter which would blacken the sky.
1*9
I tried several different shots at the sun, using a variety
of red filters of different intensities, and finally produced
the exact result I was looking for. For this picture I set
up one Graflex camera. Then I took the longest tele-
photo lens I had which would give me a good large
image of the sun on the film, and I put that lens on an-
other Graflex camera mounted on a tripod.
With my exposure and filters all worked out, I was
ready for the actual eclipse. I hired a plane to fly to the
field at Fryeburg, Maine on the morning of the eclipse.
The plane was to rush my negatives to New York the
instant the event was completed.
I checked all weather reports the day before the eclipse
and perfect weather was prophesied, with the exception
of a few possible clouds. This "possible" forecast worried
me as one small cloud could spell doom to the pictures, if
it moved in at the eclipse time.
I left for Fryeburg the day before, and bright and early
on the eclipse day I started to set up a location for my
camera operations.
It was a beautiful August day in New England, without
a single cloud in the sky. This was a wonderful relief for
I had been worrying about the possible clouds. The moun-
tain peaks were standing out clearly against the blue sky.
It was just as though I had ordered the exact type of day
for the story.
I decided I would go down near one of the college ob-
servatories and set up my cameras to make shots, as I
figured they had picked the best spot and knew more
about it than I did.
However, upon arriving at the college observatories, I
found that things were different than they were when I
visited them two weeks before. At that time they wanted
publicity on their set-ups but now they had many things
on their minds and wanted no part of anyone near them.
120
They had moved in police protection to keep everyone
clear of their working areas.
George Woodruff of the International News Photos
was with me and was going to send his pictures to New
York on my plane since there was no competition between
us. We decided then and there that as we were not wel-
come at the college observatories, we would go back to
the field and set up our cameras to try our luck shooting
the pictures from there.
The field was about six miles from the nearest observa-
tory at Fryeburg, and by making the pictures at the field
we would save precious minutes in getting the plane into
the air and on its way to New York.
We could see a few small white clouds off in the distant
sky but they didn't seem to be moving, so we disregarded
them. We had a couple of hours before the eclipse so we
drove over to the field to find the pilot had landed and
was waiting for us. About an hour before the start of the
eclipse we set up our cameras and checked everything. It
was now just a case of waiting and hoping that everything
would work out as planned.
The small clouds which looked so far away when we
first noticed them were now moving in close, but they
were traveling slowly and we figured it wouldn't be pos-
sible for them to block the sun at just the time of the
eclipse.
We checked our watches and stood by our cameras. I
was operating two; one for the series of pictures on the
stages of the eclipse, and the other with the telephoto
lens, making single shots at different times.
The pilot was checking his watch. We had put on heavy
smoked sun glasses so we could watch the sun. At the
exact time the first shadow was supposed to show up on
the sun we saw it start to cut the edge. We waited about a
minute until the shadow was far enough in on the sun
to show, and then we started to operate. I began the first
series of pictures on one camera, and the pilot was giving
me the five minute intervals on his watch for each picture.
After about ten minutes we saw one of the small clouds
working in dangerously near the sun, but we kept on
shooting. At the time of total eclipse the cloud was almost
against the sun, but we were still in the clear and it moved
away as the first burst of light broke out on the edge of
the sun after total eclipse. This burst made the sun look
like a diamond ring, and is known by that name to many
astronomers. The faint narrow line of light around the
sun forms the band of the ring and the instant the first
break appears in the shadow, a flame of light spurts out
to form what appears to be a glistening diamond stone.
Then the shadow starts to move off from the sun.
We shot the entire eclipse with no trouble from the
cloud, but at one time it was too close for comfort. I had
made one picture of the series from start to full eclipse
on one camera. Then I quickly changed the film in that
camera and made another series from full total eclipse to
the last shadow leaving the sun. These two films were
developed and printed and then matched together in one
long photo, which gave the entire eclipse in five-minute
stages from start to finish. The second camera with the
telephoto lens had two dozen pictures, showing all stages
of the eclipse.
The instant the eclipse was over, we packed our film
magazines into large envelopes and gave them to the pilot
so he could take off for New York. With our work com-
pleted, we went back to the college observatories to try
to arrange for some of their large close-up shots of the
eclipse which they had made with their huge telescope
cameras. We knew it would be a few days before their
pictures could be processed but we wanted them for use
in Sunday papers later on in the month.
It was only after talking with them that we found out
how Old Lady Luck had worked with us, for the cloud
which had come dangerously close to cutting off our pic-
tures had blocked them off from their location, and they
had entirely missed pictures of the total eclipse. We had
wanted to be with them that morning, but because of
their desire to be alone we went out to the field six miles
away and there the cloud had not cut us off.
123
Chapter X
AMONG THE STORIES which I have covered, the
Vermont Flood of 1927 stands out as one o the most diffi-
cult I ever experienced. It was in November and we had
been pelted with heavy rain and high winds in Boston for
two days. Under conditions of this sort I constantly
checked the newspaper editors in Boston to make sure
nothing in the line of flood or other trouble was develop-
ing.
I called Charlie Drury, who was then day city editor
of the Boston Herald, and asked him if he had heard any-
thing in the line of disturbances from the storm. He told
me he hacl just put a call through to a local correspondent
near Bellows Falls in Vermont as he had heard there were
signs of high water in that territory. He said he would call
me as soon as he talked with the correspondent up there
and let me know how bad it was getting to be in that
section.
He called me at nine o'clock in the morning to tell me
that he had just finished talking with the fellow in Ver-
mont and he thought it was going to be a full-fledged
flood up there. He advised me to get on the road right
away. The correspondent had told him that a number of
small highway bridges were out already and that the roads
were flooded in several places. The rain was falling in
torrents and the rivers were rising steadily.
1*4
My usual procedure would have been to pack my cam-
era equipment into my car and wire the New York office
that I had left for the flood, but on this particular morn-
ing I thought it over a few minutes and realized the cover-
age would run into a lot of money. I thought the best
thing to do was to call the New York office first.
I put through the call and talked with one of the pic-
ture editors. He couldn't believe that a flood was develop-
ing and asked me to hold the line while he talked with
the news desk of The New York Times. The editor on the
news desk had just received a delayed wire from a local
correspondent of the Times in Vermont and this fellow
told him that water had flooded several fields but he
didn't think it would be serious. The picture editor came
back on the line and told me he thought I had better
wait, as the news desk didn't think it amounted to any-
thing. I told him I was fairly certain that it was bad then
and would be getting worse, but if he wanted me to do
so I would wait in Boston until I heard from him.
I loaded all my extra film magazines and film holders
and packed the car with everything I thought I might
need for a bad flood story. I had hip rubber boots, oilskin
pants and coat, plenty of mailing envelopes and wrapping
material, along with extra plates and film.
It was now just a case of waiting until I heard from the
New York office to start on the trip. The phone was ring-
ing about every hour, and Charlie Drury of the Boston
Herald was telling me the information he was getting as
fast as it came in. I had a large road map, and with a red
pencil I was marking out the bad spots as fast as Charlie
gave them to me. One road after another was flooded and
bridges were being washed out. Charlie finally called
and asked me if I were really going because he had al-
ready been assigned to cover it but had no way to get
there and wanted to go with me when I left. His manag-
ing editor knew I was familiar with all the roads and
1*5
general territory in the flooded area, and he had a great
deal of confidence in my driving ability. He told Charlie
that if anyone could get through I would.
Charlie had bought high boots and all the oilskin cloth-
ing necessary to keep him dry. He had packed plenty
of copy paper to write his stories and, with his portable
typewriter, he was ready to start the instant I got the call.
The rain was still pelting down, with a high wind driv-
ing it against the windows as I continued to mark up the
road map. All day Charlie continued to keep me posted
as to the spots where the roads were flooded and places
where the highway bridges were out. At the flooded points
I drew red circles, and where the bridges were out I
marked a cross. With this information I was able to plan
my route and get to the heart of the stricken area with
as little loss of time as possible.
At eight o'clock Charlie called me to say that the Bos-
ton and Maine Railroad had cancelled all trains from
Boston to points beyond Concord, New Hampshire, as
most of their tracks above that point were under water,
and operating over them was impossible.
I was now getting angry with the New York office for I
knew I would have to go eventually and I figured they
should have realized I knew what I was talking about
when I called them in the morning. I also knew that the
story was now a headliner, and the delay in getting started
meant I would have the drive through the nighttime in
very bad weather. If I had left in the morning I would
have been able to get through places which were now
covered with high water.
About eight-thirty that night my phone rang and with
much excitement the picture editor from the New York
office started to scream over the phone, telling me what a
big flood it was. I told him that I was thoroughly aware
of the fact and had told him as much about twelve hours
before. He told me to get going at once and asked me
126
where I was going to start for. I said it was next to impos-
sible to get into the flooded area now but that I would
start out in my car immediately on one condition. I had a
spanking new car, and with conditions as they were I
would have to drive through high water, with a good
chance of losing the car. I told him if he were willing
to assume full responsibility for the car, I would leave at
once and with a break would be in Bellows Falls, Vermont
by daylight.
With the assurance that the office would assume the
responsibility for the car, I called Charlie Drury and
told him to get a taxi and I would meet him at Harvard
Square, Cambridge.
It was a fairly warm night, but I don't think I ever saw
it rain any harder. I had filled a suitcase with my regular
clothing and was dressed as though I were going to sea on
a fishing vessel in a storm. I met Charlie in Harvard
Square where we transferred his equipment to my car
and we were off.
I started for Keene, New Hampshire. The rain was
beating into the windshield so hard it was almost impos-
sible to see more than fifteen or twenty feet in front of the
car. We had the road to ourselves as it was certainly no
night for a joyride and everyone else was in the comfort
of his home. Charlie took over the map to check the area
we were headed for, and after a few minutes of looking
at the marking I had made he asked me if I had planned
to fly over a few of the spots we had to go through. I knew
the territory we were heading for like a book and I had a
mind's eye picture of all the low spots. I also knew some
of the fairly high sections and thought we could get by.
There were small country roads, not shown on the
map, which I knew traveled on higher ground and I fig-
ured to use these around sections where I had marked
bridges out on the main road.
Shortly after midnight we pulled into Keene and
127
found the town bristling with New Hampshire State Po-
lice. A gasoline station had been opened to take care o
the needs of all cars arriving in town for the flood emer-
gency. This was a welcome sign to us, along with a restau-
rant which had opened to feed the men who were working
throughout the night. I filled the gas tank and a three
gallon can in the trunk of the car for any extra emergency
we might run into while we were in the flood area. This
spare gas can paid for itself many times during the next
few days. Not knowing when we would be able to eat
again, we went into the restaurant and ate a good meal,
filled two quart thermos bottles with hot coffee and
bought a bag of sandwiches for "just in case."
The flood hadn't affected Keene up to that time, but
not too far out of town the water was beginning to rise.
The rain was coming down in sheets and in the restaurant
we heard all kinds of wisecracks from the emergency
workers who were there to dry off. One of them asked us if
we thought it looked like rain. Another came out with
the old, "Tain't a fit night out for man nor beast," and
another explained that this wasn't really bad, it was just a
real heavy dew. They asked us where we were heading.
When I said Bellows Falls, one of them jumped up and
said, "Let me shake hands with a man who thinks he's
going to Bellows Falls." They got quite a laugh out of our
plans to get through and, after they gave us all the rea-
sons why we couldn't get through, we thanked them and
started.
We got as far as the north end of town and were stopped
by State Police officers. They had a barrier with red
lanterns across the road and were stopping all traffic, as
they considered the road impassable.
After showing them our press credentials, and signing
a release which said in effect that we were going on the
road at our own responsibility, they removed the barrier
128
and we were off again. We had driven along about five or
six miles and everything was fine, when all of a sudden the
road led right into a huge lake. I drove to the water's
edge and the headlights, at times when the wind let up,
showed us the road out of the lake on the opposite side*
Charlie got out and, with his hip boots and a stick, started
to walk through the water, probing ahead of him with
the stick. He walked the entire length to the other side.
The water was about a foot deep at one spot, but only
about six inches deep on the rest of the road. From the
opposite side of this flooded section he waved to me, with
his flashlight, to come through. I drove at a snail's pace,,
reached the other side and we were on the road again.
As this wasn't too bad, Charlie began to think it was.
going to be easy. We traveled another couple of miles and,
in the vicinity of Westmoreland, we passed a farmhouse
with flood water surrounding the barn. The road was
not flooded and we remarked that this was the first water
we had seen around any buildings. We went up a slight,
grade and then downhill. Before us was another lake,,
with the road leading directly into it.
Charlie got his stick and started into the water on foot,
while I watched to see how high the water level rose onr
his rubber boots. He had only gone a little distance when
the water was up to his knees. I was willing to go through
a reasonable amount of water, but after seeing him going-
in deeper and deeper, I decided I was driving a car and
not a submarine, so I blew the horn to call him back. I
was getting worried for I knew the lake we had just driven
through was not far behind and by now it was deeper,
and we might be marooned there where we were. And
where we were was a long way from the flood area which
was our destination.
I remembered the farm house with the water around
the barn which we had passed not too far back on this,
129*
road. I decided to go back there and wake the farmer to
see if he could tell me of any other byroad which would
take me around this flooded road.
We drove back and I pounded on the door. The water
had risen considerably in the short time that had elapsed
since we had passed. It was now coming up around the
house and was getting really deep around the barn. After
pounding on the door for some few minutes, I heard
someone moving around upstairs and a light showed up
in the front bedroom. The window was opened and a
farmer in a white nightcap and nightshirt leaned out
the window to ask what we wanted.
I inquired if there was a road anywhere within a mile
that would lead me off this state highway and take me
back to it in a few miles. He got suspicious and asked me
why I didn't want to drive on the state highway, and were
the cops after me? I told him there was a flood and the
road was impassable about a half mile beyond his house.
He promptly said I was crazy, that he had lived in that
house all his life, and there were never any floods. I gave
him quite a shock when I brought him up to date by tell-
ing him that, at the present time, the water was more
than a foot deep around his barn, and the rear of the
house was now resting in a lake. I walked over to the edge
of the water by his house, and with my flashlight showed
him the approaching lake.
He told me to wait a minute and he would be down. I
don't think he even bothered to take off his nightshirt
because in about sixty seconds he opened the front door
and was all dressed, even to rubber boots.
I told him that we were newspapermen and had to get
through to Bellows Falls; that the water was rising so fast
we had to keep moving. He was really an excited farmer,
and as he had never before had a flood he didn't know
what he was going to do. He asked us what he should do
nvith his cattle and livestock. I saw high ground across the
130
street which was fenced in. I advised him to put them
on high ground and let them take care of themselves.
He told us he had a logging road down the "highway
a piece" that led up through the pasture and then along
the ridge for about a quarter of a mile. This road led to a
dirt road which would take me along high ground. He
told me to take the second left turn off the dirt road
and I would arrive back on the state highway, about five
miles north of the farm. We took this logging road and
I don't mind saying it was fit for nothing but logs. We
bounced and bumped over it until we came out on the
dirt country road which was quite muddy but not too bad.
It was now about three o'clock in the morning and the
strain was beginning to show on us. Charlie came up with
the bright idea of stopping when we hit the state highway
and having a cup of coffee. It wasn't too long before I
found the second left turn and then we went only a short
distance until the state highway showed up again.
We pulled into this highway and stopped while Charlie
opened one of the thermos bottles. We had our cup of
coffee and were on our way again. There seemed to be
no end to the rain and wind. It pounded on the wind-
shield and came at us in sheets as the wind drove it. We
were rolling along about twenty-five miles an hour and
my eyes were glued to the road, expecting anything to
show up ahead of us with no warning.
I knew the road very well and I was concerned about a
section of it which I knew was very low, with a sharp
hairpin turn close to the river, about three miles out of
Bellows Falls. I knew also that at about this point in the
road, another road led off to the right over high country,
but this right hand road did not go into Bellows Falls. It
went inland from the river and eventually went back to
it. This would take us quite a few miles above Bellows
Falls, which was not good as the river road back to Bel-
lows Falls was low in spots.
We were going along fine, passing farm houses here
and there which were lighted as the families were aware
of the flood and rising waters. I could tell by certain land-
marks that we were getting fairly close to Bellows Falls
and to the low spot which I feared. I told Charlie we were
getting near it and I doubted if we could get through as
it would undoubtedly be under water. As we started on
the down grade, I noticed a waving light in front of me.
I slowed down to a crawl and when we got to the light
we found two traveling salesmen standing by their car.
Both men were soaking wet and scared stiff. They
had been there most of the night and it was the first time
they had ever seen flood waters. The river was close by
and the rushing waters set up a roar that was terrifying to
listen to. This roar, blended with the high wind and the
driving rain, would make chills run up and down anyone's
spine.
They told us the road was under water for a distance
of over a hundred feet but they didn't know how deep it
was. I got out with a flashlight and went to the water's
edge to look over the situation. I knew that in the middle
of this flood-lake there was a small wooden bridge, under
which a brook normally flowed to the river. I could see the
tops of dry grass along the sides of the road most of the
way, so I knew it couldn't be too deep. The bridge, how-
ever, was my problem for I didn't know whether or not
the bridge was washed out.
I took Charlie's stick and walked along the road, prob-
ing ahead of me to make sure I was not walking off into a
deep hole where the bridge once stood. I watched the
depth of the water by the height it rose on my rubber
boots. Finally I probed onto the bridge. It was still there.
I jumped up and down on it and it seemed solid. I walked
across and up to the edge where the road came out of the
water on the other side. The deepest spots were about a
foot and a half. I knew I couldn't drive through with the
132
car as it was, as the water would be up to the radiator*
The radiator fan would throw it over the engine, which
would short circuit the spark plugs and stop the car.
Remembering the lighted farm houses we had just
passed, I turned the car around and drove back to one o
them. I found the family up and dressed, as it was now
about five o'clock in the morning and their normal time
to get up. I asked the wife if she had an oilcloth tablecloth
and she said she did but she used it every day on the
kitchen table. I told her I needed it to get my car through
the water and that I would give her five dollars for it. She
decided immediately she no longer had need for it*
Charlie couldn't understand what I was going to do
with an oilcloth tablecloth, but I told him it was our only
chance of getting through to Bellows Falls. We drove back
to the spot where the salesmen were waiting, and stopped.
I shut off the engine and had Charlie hold the oilcloth
over me, as I opened the hood, to keep the rain off the
motor. As fast as I could I unhooked the fan belt. This
put the fan out of operation. I closed the hood and tied
the top edge of the oilcloth between the two headlights
and pushed the lower edge in under the radiator. I
figured this would keep the bulk of the water from rush-
ing through the radiator and splashing up onto the en-
gine.
The two salesmen asked if we would help them through
the deep spot and I told them that if I got through I
would give them the oilcloth for their car, but we couldn't
wait for them as the water was getting higher rapidly and
we had to get through for our story.
It was still dark and the first signs of dawn hadn't yet
appeared. I told Charlie to walk ahead and probe for the
side of the road and I would follow him in the car. I knew
the curve in the road fairly well but, under a lake of flood
water, everything looks different. I waited until he was
well along on the road and had reached the bridge. He
133
waved to me that the bridge was okay and to come along.
I started in low gear and proceeded cautiously. The
water got deeper and deeper but the car kept going. When
I reached the bridge I crossed my fingers and hoped
it had not been weakened by the flood. As I crossed the
bridge the car was throwing a wave on both sides like a
motorboat. The water came in on the floor and I had the
front door open so I could jump in the event the bridge
collapsed. The bottom of the door was in the water and
it formed a rapids as the water was dragged along by the
open door.
I finally drove up onto the highway again and left the
water behind. My idea had worked and we had gone
through the deep water with the help of the oilcloth table-
cloth. I unhooked the cloth, tied it on the state highway
fence and waved to the salesmen to come and get it. I saw
one of them starting to walk through the water toward it
as I left.
The roar of the water in the river was so loud I could
hardly talk to Charlie. The water was still beating on our
faces as we got into the car again and started for the last
lap of the trip to Bellows Falls. I knew the water was ris-
ing rapidly and I had just one more hurdle to make be-
fore reaching the town. We were now on high ground,
but at the edge of town I remembered an old wooden
bridge which crossed this roaring Connecticut River. It
was only a couple of miles to the bridge and I told Char-
lie that it all depended on its condition, whether we
would make Bellows Falls or not. I pushed along fairly
fast, as we were on good road, and finally we came to a
group of men with trucks loaded with rock.
They stopped us to tell us they were State Highway
engineers and had closed traffic on the bridge. We gave
them our story and told them we had to get into Bellows
Falls. The engineer in charge told us he had crossed the
bridge a few minutes ago with a truck but it was in bad
134
shape and their surveying instruments had shown the
bridge had moved nearly two inches during the night.
He told us he would let us go across if we wanted to take
the chance, but we would have to make it fast as he was
going to load it down with rocks which would close it in
a few minutes. The weight of the rocks would help to
hold the bridge against the terrific pressure of the river
pounding at the abutments.
Charlie got out of the car and ran across. I opened the
front door and, standing on the running board with my
foot inside on the gas accelerator, I drove the car across. I
can tell you I was surely glad when the rear wheels rolled
off the bridge and onto the solid road on the other side.
It was now about eight o'clock in the morning and we
had arrived at the town where we had planned to base
our operation. I figured we would be working from
Bellows Falls for at least three or four days, and the smart
thing to do was to get a hotel room and hope that the
hotel would remain at its present location, and not decide
to go down river. The streets around the Hotel Windham
were free of flood waters when we arrived and we got a
couple of rooms, so we could have a place to change film
and write stories, even if we didn't have time for sleep.
After I checked into the hotel, we questioned different
people around there to find out where our best picture
possibilities would be. The manager of the hotel asked
me if I had looked out the window at the end of the lobby.
I went down to take a look and found the water washing
up against the building, just about a foot below the floor
where I was standing. The river was a roaring, tumbling
mass of surging water, tearing by the town. In the river
were pieces of roofs, fences, chicken coops and all kinds
of debris which had been swept from its location miles
up the river.
I was thoroughly aware now that the water would soon
be into the lobby of the hotel and asked the manager what
135
he thought of the situation. He told me that the old-timers
who had seen floods before had never seen one just like
this, but they thought the hotel would weather it all right
if he could keep the water from coming inside. He had
contacted the town highway officials who promised to send
down a couple of trucks of sand and a supply of burlap
bags, so he could pile sandbags against the windows in
the lobby, and keep the bulk of the water out.
Soon carpenters arrived with boards and sealed up the
rear windows. Then a crew of men started sandbagging
the boarded windows to withstand the pressure of the
water.
I made my first pictures there showing men piling sand-
bags against the hotel windows. It certainly looked odd to
see men wheeling sandbags into the lobby in wheelbar-
rows, and dumping them on a good carpet.
One of the highway crew told me there was a good pic-
ture for me about a mile out of town, where the road
went down into a huge lake and, in the middle of the lake,
there was a large farmhouse with water up to the second
floor. This sounded good to us, so Charlie and I started
out. We drove along a good solid road for about a mile
and a half and then the road went downhill, into a lake
with the farmhouse in the middle. There didn't seem
to be any current around the house; just deep water that
had flooded. It was a typical large New England farm-
house of two stories, with a large porch across the front
and down part of one side. The water was so deep that
the edge of the porch roof went into the water, and the
windows of the second floor were about two feet above the
water level. The rural mailbox, out near the road, was
just clearing the water.
With the heavy rain and the dark clouded skies, the
light was anything but good for pictures. I decided to put
my camera on a tripod and make slower exposures
which would allow me to stop my lens down to get sharper
136
pictures. I had just set the camera on the tripod and
opened up the hood to look in and focus it, when I no-
ticed something moving in a window.
I looked up quickly from the camera hood to the farm-
house window and sure enough there was someone in the
window. The window opened and a lady, well along in
years, yelled to me asking when the fire department was
going to rescue them. I asked her if she had notified them
and she said she had, and they told her they would be
along soon, but that was over an hour ago and since then
the water had gone up over ten feet. I told her I would
wait a while and if they didn't arrive I would get her my-
self.
At this last remark, Charlie said to me under his breath,
"Lady, you can be sure of a nice rescue, for we wouldn't
miss this for anything."
We decided this was a natural for good flood rescue
pictures, so we might as well get back in the car where it
was dry, and wait for the action to start. When we got in
the car, Charlie reminded me we hadn't had breakfast,
and it was nearly ten o'clock. We still had thermos bottles
with coffee, which was still hot, and we had this and a
sandwich which we had bought the night before in Keene,
New Hampshire.
We realized, all of a sudden, that during the time we
had been in Bellows Falls we hadn't seen any other news-
papermen, which made us very happy as it looked as
though we had reached the town first, and we knew it was
impossible for others to come in now over the road we
had taken. This would give us exclusive pictures and
news stories from this section, which was the center of the
flooded area.
The rain was still beating against the windshield and
pounding out its eerie accompaniment to the roaring
sound of the river, which was just a few hundred feet to
our left, when we heard the siren and bells of the fire
department. This was the prop we needed for our pic-
tures and story, if the rescue was done the way we wanted
it.
I knew the people in the house were in no danger, for
the water around the house was just high flood water and
was quite a distance from the current of the river. We got
out of the car and in a moment the ladder-truck of one
of the local fire departments drove down to the water's
edge. On the ladders was a good-sized rowboat. Four men
were on the truck when it arrived and I asked them who
was in charge. They pointed out the fireman, and I told
him there was a man and a woman in the house and that
I was waiting to get pictures of the rescue. I told him who
I was and showed him my press cards. I impressed on him
what a good scoop of national publicity his fire depart-
ment would receive if I got the right kind of pictures. I
also pointed out to him that there were two ways of mak-
ing a rescue one with pictures, which was the proper
way; and one without pictures. He said he would like the
publicity and would be glad to cooperate with me. I told
him to row over to the window in the boat and take the
lady first, with anything she wanted to save of her personal
effects; then row back with her, and rescue the man on
another trip.
He took one other man with him and they rowed to
the waiting lady. I saw the man in the house begin to
fill the boat with all kinds of household belongings. Then
the woman got into the boat, along with a large collie
dog, a large bird cage with the family parrot, and last
but not least the cat. The firemen started back with their
load and when they neared the shore I told them to turn
the boat sideways and hold it for a second while I got the
picture; the lady covering her shoulders with a large
shawl and a kerchief over her head; in the bow the dog
standing with his forefeet on the gunwale; the bird cage
and cat resting in the lady's lap in the stern of the boat.
138
Inside the boat also were large bundles of handmade
bedding, along with bundles of clothing tied in sheets. In
the background of this picture the farmhouse was visible,
with the water level up to the second floor windows.
This picture proved to be one of the best shots made of
the flood, and it was featured on the covers of magazines
and front pages of newspapers for the next two weeks.
The men brought the boat ashore and unloaded, and
were ready to start back for the man with the rest of the
belongings to be saved. The mailbox, just sticking out
above the water level, intrigued me for a picture, and I
told one of the firemen to go over to the mailbox, after
the man had been rescued, and look in the box as if to get
his last mail. They rowed to the house, took on the man
and more bundles of household material, and then rowed
over to the mailbox. I got pictures of the whole proceed-
ing.
I asked the firemen where they would take the man
and woman, and found that the town Red Cross Head-
quarters had already set up an emergency shelter for
rescued families and these people were the first to ar-
rive.
We drove back behind the fire truck to the hall, and
got more pictures of the Red Cross in action, registering
the first rescued.
The water was now pouring down some of the lower
streets in Bellows Falls and made good picture material.
A new power house on the edge of the river was being
destroyed piece by piece, as the river roared in through
the upper windows and flowed out the lower ones, like a
huge waterfall. I worked my way down near the power
house and made pictures. Then I was told that the rail-
road bridge into town was on the verge of being washed
away, and that the railroad was going to back a line of
coal cars, loaded with coal, onto the bridge in an attempt
to weight it down to hold it in place. I went over to the
139
bridge, and while making pictures there I found my old
friend Jake Coolidge, from Paramount Newsreel, grind-
ing away. He had left Boston in the early morning of the
day before, and had been there all night. He had made
arrangements with the Engineering Department of the
railroad to take his pictures out on a section crew patrol
car, which was leaving about four o'clock that afternoon
for Greenfield, to check the roadbed and bridges on the
way down. At Greenfield the pictures could be put on a
train into New York. T planned to put my pictures on the
same patrol car and thus my first set would be in New
York by morning.
As we finished making shots of the coal cars being
backed onto the bridge, someone called to us and pointed
up the river. We looked, and coming down in the center
of this roaring river was a small barn, filled with hay and
it was ablaze. We knew it would hit the bridge as the
water was up to the track-deck of the bridge, and at times
was washing over it. In order to get pictures of the barn
hitting the bridge, we had to run along high banking,
to the left of the bridge. The barn was coming down fast
and we just had time enough to get set up when it struck
the bridge and was smashed to bits, sending pieces of it
down river. Of course, the fire was put out instantly.
Standing there by the edge of the bridge, we watched
the different things floating down and smashing against it.
No one can realize the terrific pressure and force of flood
waters until he has seen a sight like this. Large barn doors,
bolted together with heavy fittings, were splintered like
matchsticks as they hit the bridge. Among other things
afloat in the river was a hen house, with about six hens
and a rooster sitting on the ridgepole. When this building
hit, the rooster and two hens made the bridge in one fly-
ing leap, but the others went down river in the boiling
and tossing waters.
The rain was beginning to ease up some but it was
140
still coming down in large size drops. We had a good selec-
tion of pictures by now, and I knew that one picture in
the office was worth twenty in the camera up at Bellows
Falls, so I decided to go back to the hotel, pack the plates,
write captions and get the package ready to go out on the
railroad patrol car for Greenfield and New York. Jake
wanted to get his film ready too, so we started. When we
arrived at the hotel we found about four inches of water
on the lobby floor, and water was running out the front
door and down the street.
The manager assured us he thought everything would
be okay as the building was on a solid foundation and
no great amount of water was going through the hotel. It
was simply leaking in around the sandbags.
Jake, who was always joking and had a bright saying
for everyone, told the manager to throw out an anchor to
windward and double the watch. We laughed and went
up to our rooms to pack pictures. The telegraph had
ceased to function so Charlie had to get his story written
to go out on the patrol car too, and have it sent by wire
from Greenfield.
In a short time I had unloaded the camera plates,
packed them and had written my captions. I put the
label on the package, and then wrote a wire to be sent to
the New York office by the railroad men when they ar-
rived at Greenfield, informing them that pictures were
arriving by train, and telling them to meet the train.
We were all dead tired but very much pleased with our
first day's work. We still had no competition. As far as
other newsmen were concerned we were alone in the
town. It was about three o'clock and we decided to get in
touch with the railroad patrol car which was going to
make the trip. Jake led the way and we soon found that
the water was high over the lower street, and there was
no way to get to the station. We were told that this station
had several feet of water over the tracks. Then we won-
141
dered about the patrol car making the trip, when sud-
denly Jake said, "There is my man," and waved to a
fellow dressed in oilskins. He came over, and said the trip
had been called off as most of the bridges close to Bel-
lows Falls were washed out and there was no way of get-
ting out by rail.
This really gave us a problem, for good pictures were
of no use to the papers while in our possession in Bellows
Falls. We had a quick conference and decided to try to
find a local taxi driver who knew all the back roads and
who might be able to find a way to drive to Greenfield.
After some checking around we found a fellow who said
he could get through all right but he owned his own taxi
and he wouldn't put it through the back country road
mud for any fare. We asked him if he would go with us
in niy car, and pilot us over the roads down and back. He
agreed to go, for twenty-five dollars, as a pilot. This was
a lot of money for just going along, but on stories of this
type the local people seem to smell newspaper money.
They know we have to get pictures through, and they also
know that in an emergency money means nothing to us.
I filled the gas tank at a station which was still on dry
ground in Bellows Falls, and the dealer told me he would
have to start rationing gasoline as his supply was getting
low. This put me on my guard, and after that, every few
miles we stopped and filled the tank even if we only took
on two gallons.
It was about five in the afternoon when we finally
started our trip for Greenfield. We left Charlie Drury in
town to get all the information he could during the night
for possible pictures the next morning, and I took his
story to send when we reached our destination. We had a
distance of about forty-five miles to travel and I thought
we could make it in about two hours at the most. The
taxi driver knew the spots where the road was washed out
and he started us off almost directly west to get away
14*
from the river. Most of the roads we were traveling were
dirt roads, and were now rivers of slippery mud. We went
through small villages I had never heard of, but our pilot
told us we would get through and return with no more
difficulty than a muddy car. I was driving and I thought
I had driven over some tough country roads, but this pilot
of ours knew them all and I don't think he missed a one!
We had been driving for hours when finally we came out
on a good gravel road, and for the first time I was able
to get the car out of second gear. We were then only about
three miles out of Greenfield, and from there into town
we had very little trouble*
I parked the car close to the railroad station, about ten
o'clock. It had taken us five hours to make a distance
which, if we had been able to travel on the regular high-
way, would have been just a good hour's drive. I was dog
tired and hungry, as we hadn't stopped to eat since the
sandwich we had in the morning.
Our problem now was to get the pictures on the way
to New York. I immediately started to check with the
railroad officials. They were very cooperative and told me
the bulk of their trouble was north of us, which of course
I knew. They also said they were beginning to have high
water between Greenfield and Springfield, but a train
was being held until final checks were made. They
thought it would start in about an hour for New York and
would probably be the last train to make it, as the water
was rising continually. Jake and I waited until the report
came in that the train was given its order to proceed and
run at reduced speeds over certain designated spots. I
gave the picture packages to the baggage man, who told
me they would arrive in New York sometime in the early
morning.
I tried to put a telephone call through to the New York
office but was told the lines were down and no service
operating. I then tried the telegraph, which accepted
143
my message and put it through, along with Charlie
Drury's story to Boston.
The rain had practically stopped and, although I was
tired, I felt good to see that train pull out of the station
with my pictures headed for their destination at last.
We decided we would have a good dinner and then
start back through the sea of mud, for Bellows Falls. I
envied Charlie for I figured by now he was sound asleep
in the hotel, and I dreaded that trip back.
We had a good steak dinner and began to feel much
more like tackling the trip back. After filling the tank
with gas, we started on our return trip about midnight.
It was a case of sliding through mud and bumping over
rocks all the way back, but we arrived in Bellows Falls
about five o'clock in the morning. The taxi driver pilot
went home and I went to the hotel. Water was splashing
against the back wall and the roar of the river was terrific,
but by that time I didn't care about noise all I wanted
was a few hours' sleep. I was in bed by five-thirty A.M. and
asleep the instant my head touched the pillow. Three
hours later there was a loud pounding on my door as
Charlie, not knowing the time I got back, decided I
wouldn't want to sleep any longer with good picture ma-
terial everywhere in the town. I had breakfast and started
out on the streets. The rain had stopped and the sky was
still overcast, but the river was still roaring and rising
which was caused from the amount of water still draining
into it from water-shelves near its source.
Everyone in the town had some kind of hard luck story
about which they had heard to tell us. This made good
material for Charlie but for me it wouldn't make pictures.
I decided to take the car and cut in over some of the back
roads to try for other towns which were badly hit by the
flood. Jake went along with me, while Charlie stayed in
town to collect his material.
We drove out of town toward the northwest and we
144
found pictures everywhere. Small peaceful brooks, which
were former havens for fishermen, were now full size roar-
ing rivers taking tons of water down into the Connecticut
River. On our trip we found one small town, near Caven-
dish, which normally had a small river running alongside
it, but during the height of the flood the river changed
its course and moved over to the main street, tearing
everything from its path. When we photographed the
new river bed, it had torn a deep gulley through the cen-
ter of the town about thirty-five feet deep, and was roar-
ing along on its way in this new river bed, which was
formerly the main street.
The towns looked like the work of children with toy
buildings. Some houses were washed up against each
other, while others were turned around and tipped at
fantastic angles, and all of them under water up to the
second floors.
In every town we entered the local residents flocked to
us to ask about other towns where some of them had rela-
tives. They would try to describe a section of a town where
we had been, and ask us to tell them about a certain white
house with green blinds. It was an impossibility for us to
help them. All we could do was give them, as best we
could, the general condition of the towns they asked
about.
I knew I couldn't keep up this business of working all
day and driving all night to get pictures off, and I also
knew that now there was no chance of getting them off
from Greenfield. It would be a case of going at least as
far south as Springfield.
During the morning I had shot about twenty-four good
pictures of all types, and I was thinking of how to get my
package off to New York when Jake spotted a plane cir-
cling low near a large field close by. We were then in the
vicinity of Chester, Vermont. The pilot made a low run
over the field, then turned, and came in for a landing. We
rushed out onto the field to see if we could hire him to
take our pictures to New York, or at least to Springfield
and put them on a plane there. We found that he had
been hired by the Red Cross in New York to fly one of
their officials into the area and land as close as he could
to Bellows Falls. The official asked me where he was and
I told him he was not too far from Bellows Falls, that I
was driving there myself and would take him with me.
The pilot said this was the nearest field he could spot that
looked safe enough for him to land.
The plane was going to return directly to New York,
so I made a deal to drive the official back with me, giving
him all the information I could about conditions in the
flooded area, if he would send my pictures back on his
plane. He agreed, and Jake and I handed our packages
over to the pilot. A second set of pictures was on its way
to the big city!
I spent five days in the flood area and just about every
place I looked had a picture possibility. The water
started to recede from the roads and stories started to
reach us from sections which were isolated when the flood
was in its full fury.
The water had left the roads but the flood was incon-
siderate, for it had deposited large barns and houses in
the middle of many roads. A thick coating of silt, about
four inches, from the river made the roads slippery and
practically impossible to drive over. Jake, Charlie and I
toured mile after mile through the wreckage left by the
whirling waters and saw some of the peculiar tricks a
flood can play on houses and buildings.
We would see a large white farmhouse which looked
as though it was undamaged from the front, but as we
walked around we would find the rear wall completely
missing. Jake, with his ever present joke, said it would
be cool in the upper bedrooms during the summer.
The salvage scenes were unforgettable, as the residents
146
went back to their homes and started to pull furniture
onto their porches, if they were lucky enough to still
have porches. The heavy upholstered furniture had a
solid coating of mud, and the owners were washing it ofi
with a hose. The rugs were hung over the few fences re-
maining, and these also got a washing. Men were shovel-
ing mud from the first floor rooms and hallways.
In one of the towns, I saw the proprietor of a ladies'
dress shop with a large metal rack of dresses and coats
which he had wheeled out on the sidewalk in front of his
store. He was turning all the pockets inside out to remove
as much of the mud as possible, and then giving them
a good wash with a hose.
The drinking water situation all during the flood pe-
riod was impossible. We drank nothing but bottled soda
water and soft drinks which we bought from stores as we
went along. In places we were able to get spring water in
two quart bottles and this was really a valuable find. It
was indeed the old saying, "You never miss the water
until the well runs dry."
As soon as we knew we couldn't get water we started
to get thirsty.
After the flood was over, a great many pieces of land
changed hands, for in many cases it was cheaper for the
owner of a building to buy the piece of land on which his
building was now resting, than to move the building back
to its original foundation.
We found throughout the stricken area that floods show
no favoritism. Farmers, city or town residents, business
establishments or public utilities it made no difference
as the water pounded down through them all.
For months the battered and scarred area was under
temporary telephone and light wiring and the railroads
were building new roadbeds and bridges. In some sections
I saw long stretches of railroad tracks with the ties still
spiked to them, hanging like a giant swing above the
147
ground where a bridge had been washed out, along with
the track roadbed.
It took months and years of painstaking and heart-
breaking work to remove flood damage in this area. Even
today, twenty-five years later, there are still scars left
from the disaster of 1927.
148
Chapter XI
IN CONTRAST to the story I have just related, there
are some stories which a newspaperman covers when he
doesn't get any pictures at all. I covered a part of the well
known Kingsford Smith round-the-world flight in his
plane "Southern Cross" in July 1930.
Kingsford Smith had flown around the greater part of
the world and was on the last leg of the trip from the
British Isles to New York, where he planned to land at
Roosevelt Field.
The New York Times had a contract with the flier for
an exclusive story on the trip. As he took off on this last
leg, the radio station of the Times was in direct com-
munication with him, and held the contact all during
the flight across the Atlantic.
Everything was going fine and Kingsford Smith told the
Times he thought he would be able to go directly into
Roosevelt Field with the gasoline supply he had on board.
But, after a few hours in the air, the wind shifted and he
started to buck a headwind with bad weather; then he
told the Times he thought he would have to land at Old
Orchard Beach in Maine to refuel, or if conditions were
any worse, he would have to land at Harbor Grace in
Newfoundland.
When the Times got this information, they called me
at once and told me just what the story was; of the pos-
149
sibility o a landing at either Old Orchard or Harbor
Grace; that I should go at once to Maine, and keeping the
story a secret, I should make arrangements to hire a plane
for the trip to Newfoundland, if that was to be the landing
place; if the landing was made at Old Orchard, I should
then use the plane to rush the landing photos into New
York.
The picture editor explained to me that at Harbor
Grace there was no gasoline supply and the Southern
Cross would have to wait there until gas could be shipped
or flown in to fill its tanks. They thought this might take
several days and, if the landing was made there, I should
be able to fly in, get pictures of Kingsford Smith and the
plane; then fly them into New York and be there days
ahead of the arrival of the around-the-world plane.
I drove to Old Orchard and found that the only plane
at the beach was away for a couple of days on a chartered
flight. I then went over to the Scarboro Airport which
was only a few miles from there and talked with a Cap-
tain Brown who was in charge of the airport.
Figuring that I could trust him, but at the same time
being very careful what I said, I asked him what types
of planes he had at the airport for hire. He told me he
had several and that if I wanted to take a ride, a plane
was out there by the runway now, taking passengers up
for two dollars each.
He was quite surprised when I confided in him that I
wanted to fly to Harbor Grace, Newfoundland, or to New
York, and I wouldn't know which way I was going until
I got a final telephone call. It gave him quite a laugh when
I told him the two places, as I certainly was going in
entirely different directions, "depending on the call."
The pilot of the plane making these short passenger
hops for two dollars was named Red, He had just arrived
at the Maine airport from Mineola Airport in New York,
150
and had never been any farther north than the airport
from which he was now flying. He had a single motor
amphibian plane which, according to the Captain, had a
gasoline supply for about three hours.
On Red's next landing the Captain called him in and I
explained to him that I was a newspaperman waiting for
a call from New York and I wanted to make a deal with
him to be sure I would have the plane when the call came
in. He wanted to know where I wanted to go and I said
I wouldn't know until I got orders, but it would be either
Newfoundland or New York City.
The Newfoundland angle worried him, but he said he
would go through with it and that the plane would cost
sixty dollars an hour while in the air, and twenty-five dol-
lars an hour while on the ground, from the time I started
until I returned.
I agreed that the price would be all right and told him
to keep an eye out for me on the field if he was up with
passengers as I would wave him down as soon as I got my
phone call.
All this was taking place around ten o'clock in the
morning, and all during this time The New York Times
was getting messages through on their radio direct from
Kingsford Smith in the Southern Cross. He was telling
them that conditions were getting worse, he was now sure
he couldn't get through to New York without refueling,
and it looked as though the refuel stop would be at Har-
bor Grace.
Finally I got the call from the New York office telling
me that it was now pretty sure that the Southern Cross
would have to land in Newfoundland and that I had bet-
ter get started just as soon as I could get into the air, and
to be sure and call them on the phone at every point
where we landed to refuel. They also wanted the full
name of the pilot and his license numbers, along with the
type of plane and its registered number. I gave them this
information and they said, "Okay, take off as soon as you
can. You are insured for fifty thousand dollars."
I went out onto the field and saw Red coming in for a
landing. We were starting to get a slight easterly wind
which I didn't like too much, for an easterly breeze in
summer along the Maine coast usually means fog.
As soon as he landed and taxied up to the parking apron
he cut his engine and came over to get my decision. With
a smile he said, "Is it east or west, and let me add I hope
it's west." I told him he wasn't that lucky as the trip
was to be made to Harbor Grace, Newfoundland.
I knew it would be only a few minutes before we would
be in the air and, as there was no competition at the air-
base, I told Captain Brown and Red just what the story
actually was and what we had to do.
Red was thrilled at being in on the Kingsford Smith
story and said he would certainly like to see him in New-
foundland and get his story of the flight. He was worried,
however, as he had nothing in the line of a good map and
had never been north of the spot where he was now stand-
ing.
Captain Brown said he thought he could fix us up as
he had talked with a couple of fliers one time who had
been up there and they had described it to him. He went
through the drawers in his desk and finally found a road
map put out by a gasoline company. This map covered
Maine and Nova Scotia, and up in the extreme top
corner was a little white outlined spot. Pointing to the
white spot, he explained that this was one of the lower
corners of Newfoundland, and then with his left hand
opened flat he drew imaginary lines on his palm with his
right hand, telling us to turn to the right as soon as we
hit the Newfoundland coast. As he followed along with
his finger on his palm he showed us how the coastline
was shaped, and then pointed to the spot on his hand at
which we would find Harbor Grace.
This imaginary map he was drawing on the palm of
his hand was the only one we had, and Red jokingly
asked the Captain if we could take it along, but he de-
cided he might need it while we were gone.
One of the mechanics at the field was checking the
plane, engine and controls. He had filled the tanks and
had given us an anchor and a couple of life preservers for
"just in case."
We boarded the plane and stowed all our equipment.
Then Red started to rev up the motor to make sure it met
with his approval. I was convinced he didn't like this trip
a bit and the slightest sign of bad weather would prob-
ably stop him, but the weather looked good. He gave me
an okay on the ship and asked if I was ready to go. I had
the road map and told him we could take off any time.
He gave one more high speed test on the motor and then
started for the runway while Captain Brown and the
mechanic waved goodbye.
After a long run, we started to lift from the runway.
Red rolled up the wheels and headed east along the Maine
coastline. It was one of those nice warm New England
summer days, but there was a slight bite to the easterly
wind which I didn't like.
As we flew along Red glanced over at the map, and I
pointed out our exact location, as I knew every landmark
on the Maine coastline from the hundreds of times I had
driven the shore roads.
I knew that as long as we could see the ground I could
navigate the plane through to the jumping-off spot for
Newfoundland; but up to that time I had never been in
Newfoundland, and I knew nothing about the territory
other than the drawing Captain Brown had made on his
hand.
153
We passed over Casco Bay with its summer colony of
sail and power boats. Then I told Red to head out to sea
a little and set a straight course almost parallel to the
coastline. We flew this course and at times were out to sea
and other times inland, as the Maine coast is very irreg-
ular, going back and forth from peninsulas to large bays.
I picked out landmarks at Boothbay and Waldoboro.
Then, looking ahead and to the east, we saw long gray
low fog clouds coming in and closing off our visibility.
We were flying at about two thousand feet, and from this
altitude I could see fairly well inland. In a few minutes I
spotted the white chimneys of the Thomaston Cement
Hills with its light yellow plumes of smoke. I gave Red
our position and he pointed to the fog clouds, asking me
if I wanted to keep going. I told him that I didn't have
any fear of the fog as I thought it would be just along the
coastline and at any time we could turn directly north-
west and run inland to be out of it in a few minutes. With
this assurance he kept the plane on our set course which
was hitting along the coastline perfectly.
Within twenty minutes the fog had closed in solid un-
der us and we could faintly make out land at the extreme
edge of our vision inland. It was very pretty as we flew
along in bright sunshine with a clear blue sky over us,
while below it looked as though a giant had spread out
large glistening rolls of absorbent cotton. It appeared
solid in all directions and Red pointed up to the roof of
the plane to show me the gas gauge was getting lower all
the time. He told me he thought we were good for about
another hour but then we would have to find a landing
spot fast.
I decided we would be safe as we could get inshore
and out of the fog in a few minutes if we had to. I told him
to hold his course. Minute after minute we were getting
further into the solid fog. It didn't take an expert to tell
that Red was getting worried, and I didn't like it myself,
154
but I wanted to get as far as I could on each leg of the
trip.
Red asked me if I thought we were over land or water,
and I told him I thought it must be water, but to swing a
little more to the east and that would put us over the Bay
of Fundy for sure. While I was admiring the coloring on
the fog banks below, I spotted what looked like two sticks
poking through the fog into the sunshine. I looked closer
and found them to be the topmasts of a schooner. There
was no doubt now that we were over the water and this
meant there would be a landing place under us for, with
the wheels up, we could land and take off on water. It was
a great advantage to be in an amphibian, capable of land-
ing either on land or water.
I pointed out the topmasts to Red as he again looked
up at the gas gauge. We had half an hour supply but it
was getting to the point where we had to do something
very soon.
Looking ahead and just a little to the left I saw a small
hole in the fog and could see the water. I told Red to make
a run for that hole and land. This was music to his ears
for he wasn't a bit in favor of flying around over solid fog
with a rapidly emptying gas tank. As we neared the hole
in the fog, a slight breeze closed it in, but we had seen
water so we knew it was safe to land. We struck the fog
and after the bright sunshine above, coming into this pea
soup was just as though someone had blindfolded us and
turned off the lights.
We dropped about a hundred feet through the fog when
all of a sudden the water showed up just under us. We
hit the water and a row of high bushes appeared ahead
and to the left. Red bounced the plane as he hit the water
and swung the rudder to the right to avoid the bushes.
We settled down again on the water with what appeared
to be bushes growing on both sides.
As Red idled back the engine, I opened the window
155
over my head in the cockpit and looked out to find the
"bushes" were part of a herring weir. We could only see
about six feet ahead of us through the fog. We weren't
sure whether we were on the Maine coast, or whether
we had, in our last change of course, cut across the Bay
of Fundy which is only about sixty miles across, and had
landed off the coast of Nova Scotia.
We decided we must be off the Maine coast, so we
turned inland and, with the engine going slowly, we
started to taxi along on the water. About every five min-
utes I stood up and whistled, trying to get an answer.
Finally, as we were about to change our minds and decide
we were off Nova Scotia, we saw a herring weir in front
of us with two men in a dory tending it. They were ex-
cited to see this plane come out of the fog and later told
us they had heard us land and were wondering if we
made it.
We went up as close as possible to the men and asked
them if they could tell us where we were. One fellow
yelled, "I sure know where you be, you be in Little
Machias."
I knew that Little Machias was fairly close to the Cana-
dian border and that we had made a long leg of the trip
before this landing. I told Red we should gas up here at
this town and before we left I would go ashore to phone
the United States Weather Bureau station at Eastport
and get the full information on the fog conditions along
the entire coastline. Only a few months before I had been
at this weather station and had made a story on Mr.
Murphy, who was then in command of it.
I asked the fellows in the dory which way we should
go to reach the town. They gave me a direction and said
it was about a mile and a half. We went along slowly and
every once in a while Red cut down the motor while I
opened up the hatch over my head to stand up and whis-
tle. After repeating this procedure two or three times I
156
heard a whistle answering me, and then a voice through
the fog saying "hello." I pointed to the direction from
which the voice seemed to come and Red went along
slowly for a short distance, and stopped again. I whistled
again and again the voice answered. I asked if we were
near shore, as we were in an airplane and didn't want to
come too close.
Red cut the engine completely, and the voice told us to
stay there and he would row out. In a few seconds I could
hear the oars of a boat, and then a dory appeared out
of the fog with a young fisherman in it. He told us we
were only a few hundred feet from the wharf at Little
Machias, and he thought we had better anchor and he
would take us ashore.
I got into the dory and Red stayed with the plane. It
was only a few minutes until we pulled up at a long land-
ing float where there was a gasoline pump. I could see
that the plane would be safe at the float and the wings
would ride free of any obstructions, so we rowed back to
the plane. Red hauled up anchor and slowly followed us
to the float.
While he loaded the plane's tanks with ordinary motor-
boat gasoline, I went to the home of the fisherman who
had rowed us ashore and telephoned to Murphy at the
weather station at Eastport. I told him I was in a seaplane
and was down in Little Machias in the fog, and explained
to him that we would like to get into Eastport if it was
possible. Murphy got quite a kick out of the fact that we
were flying, and heading for his town. He told us that
Eastport was in bright sunshine then and he thought it
would be for about an hour, as the fog was just outside
and would move in to block the harbor in about that time.
He said he would have a boat ready to bring us ashore
if we wanted to fly into Eastport,
I told him we would take off as soon as I got back to
the plane and we would be there, I thought, before the
157
hour was up. I ran down to the float with the fisherman
and told Red that if we flew to Eastport within the hour
we could land free of fog.
By air line Eastport was only a little over sixty miles
and I was sure we could make it in less than an hour if
we could get the plane into the air through this pea soup.
Red had the gas tanks filled and I knew we were ready,
but he didn't like the idea of taking off the water in the
blinding fog. I asked the fisherman if he could give us a
compass course which would take us over clear water,
free of herring weirs and moored boats. He told us a
course to set and said he was sure we would be free of
everything, with the exception of a passing fishing boat.
Red asked me if I wanted to take the chance and I told
him we might be stuck in Little Machias for a couple of
days if we didn't get out now.
He started the motor and the fisherman cast off our
lines, which I took into the cabin. We slowly turned to
put the plane on the course set for our take-off. Red
crossed his fingers and gave the engine full throttle; we
started to tear down the harbor, absolutely blind, for we
couldn't see six feet ahead of us through the fog. It
seemed as though we would never break clear of the
water's surface and start to rise. I watched the air speed
indicator and we were traveling sixty miles an hour with
Red rocking the controls to break us free. The engine
over our heads was roaring. All I could think of was the
possibility of a fishing boat in front of us in the fog.
Finally we left the water, then bounced back on it
again, then bounced into the air, to stay there this time.
We started to rise on as steep a climb as the plane would
take but we didn't breathe freely until the altitude meter
showed us to be up a hundred feet. Red then started to
head inland. At about two hundred feet we broke through
the thick fog into the bright sunshine again. It was a
great relief to both of us.
158
We got up to about a thousand feet before I could see
the green countryside ahead of the edge of the fog bank,
and we then headed east along this edge. I spotted a rail-
road track which we followed all the way into Eastport.
When we neared the town and the harbor of Eastport
the sun was shining on the housetops and a four-masted
schooner, which was anchored in the harbor. The fog was
closing in rapidly as we circled to come in for a landing
on the water. Then it closed solid, and again we saw small
sticks poking up through the fog. This time there were
four of them, the topmasts of a schooner anchored in the
harbor. We knew everything was clear around her so we
used the topmasts for a marker, and landed down through
the fog on the harbor, alongside the schooner.
We came to a stop as a small motor boat came up to us,
carrying the weather observer, Mr. Murphy. He had
made arrangements to tie up the plane at a long float close
to town, and we followed the motorboat through the fog
and tied the plane up for the night, for it was now getting
along to the early evening.
Murphy told us the fog would hold all night but he
thought it would go out with the rise of the sun the next
day. We decided we had had enough for that day and
lady luck had been good to us. We would stay in Eastport
for the night and get out the first thing in the morning.
We checked into the local hotel where I called the New
York office to tell them we were in Eastport for the
night and would get in the air early in the morning. They
told me Kingsford Smith was safely down at Harbor
Grace and they expected he would be there for a few
days before he could get gasoline to continue his trip on
to New York. They said to call in before I took off in the
morning and they would have more information for me
then.
Red had never been in this section of the country so he
was quite interested in this little sardine fishing town.
159
We had dinner, and as we still had a couple of hours of
daylight I hired a car and took Red over to the little town
of Pembroke which I knew well, as my father had been
born there. We dropped into the general store and Red
didn't miss a thing; the old-fashioned potbellied stove
and the cracker barrel, along with the old-fashioned
cheeses. This was all something he had heard about but
had never seen; a genuine Yankee New England country
store where a person could buy anything from a pair of
work pants to a pound of cheese.
After a short walk around the center of town, we de-
cided to drive back the twelve miles to Eastport and
get a good night's sleep, as we didn't know just what the
next day had in store for us.
The next morning we woke up bright and early with
the sun shining in the window. The fog had gone out with
the sunrise as Mr. Murphy had predicted. We had break-
fast and then I called the weather station to get the fore-
cast for the next twenty-four hours. This was "perfect
weather with a light westerly breeze/* And this meant the
end of our fog worries. I called the New York office and
they told me they had not, as yet, been able to contact
Kingsford Smith but they would get him within the next
hour; that I should fly on to St. John, New Brunswick,
land there, and call them.
We went down to the plane and found quite a group
of the local fishermen and townspeople looking over the
plane, as in those days planes were not too plentiful and
this was one of the few seaplanes to land in Eastport. Put-
ting all our equipment on board and checking the plane
took only a few minutes. Red started the motor to warm
it up. The fishermen cast off our lines and, as there was
practically no wind, we made a long take-off run straight
out into the harbor from the float. We had no trouble
getting into the air, made a long banked circle over the
town, and then headed on toward St. John.
160
It was a beautiful day and the trip along the coast was
certainly a pleasure. The farms and beautiful country-
side passing along under us was a sight I still remember.
About nine o'clock we sighted St. John ahead of us and
we soon were over the city. I spotted a boatyard that had
a long float which would be all right to tie up at and Red
circled and landed. As we tied up to the float we were
given a welcome by the owner for we were the first air-
plane party to land at his float.
I called the New York office and was told that they had
just been in touch with Kingsford Smith and that he had
been able to gas up his plane, using gasoline that had
been stored at Harbor Grace by a pilot who was planning
to make a round-the-world flight. Kingsford Smith told
my New York office that he had enough gasoline now to
take him directly to New York, and he planned to take
off from Newfoundland for New York at about ten o'clock.
I told the office it would be impossible for me to get
there before he took off and they said they knew that, but
I should get into the air and try to intercept him some-
where over Nova Scotia, get a shot of him, then start back
to the field in Maine, and release the plane. I tried to tell
them that trying to find Kingsford Smith somewhere
over Nova Scotia was like looking for a needle in a hay-
stack and they said they realized that, but if I could get a
shot it would be a good picture showing him on the way
to New York.
After I finished my phone call I went down on the float
where Red had filled the gas tank again and was waiting
to see where we were going next. When I told him what
we were supposed to do he laughed and said, "From now
on we'll be just flying. I don't think there's a chance in a
million of ever seeing Kingsford Smith."
We took the map and drew a line which we thought
would be about the one on which Kingsford Smith would
be flying. Then we started to figure his speed, and the
161
time he was going to take off, so we could roughly place
him at certain spots at certain times. With this done we
figure our speed and decided the best chance would be
for us to fly across the Bay of Fundy, hit Nova Scotia near
Windsor and then fly inland a short distance; zigzag across
the territory a couple of times and, if we didn't see him,
start back for Scarboro Airport.
With everything ready we took off across the Bay of
Nova Scotia, picked up the town of Windsor, and then
started inland. We were flying at about five thousand feet
and over a complete wilderness. There was no sign of
Kingsford Smith. As we watched the time and our gas
supply we decided that he was past us by now, so we
started back for the Maine coast and landed with an
almost dry tank at Bar Harbor, Maine.
As soon as we landed I called the New York office again.
They told me that Kingsford Smith had taken off ahead
of his scheduled time and was then nearing New York
City. We took on more gasoline and then started our last
lap of the trip back to Scarboro Airport to land just before
dusk. I hadn't opened my camera and had a bill of over
four hundred dollars for the plane. But this is part of the
newspaper business and some of the chances that are
taken in order to cover all angles on a story and use every
opportunity to get a "beat" if one is possible.
Had things gone as planned, with Kingsford Smith
waiting in Newfoundland for a week to get gasoline to
continue on to New York, I would have been there; taken
a series of exclusive pictures, and flown them to New
York; and the plane would have paid for itself several
times over through the sale of the exclusive pictures.
162
Chapter XII
BACK IN 1931 I was a passenger on board the nation-
ally famous Gloucester fishing schooner Gertrude L.
Thebeaud when that schooner set a sailing record that has
never been equaled between Gloucester, Massachusetts,
and Halifax, Nova Scotia.
It was one of those trips I wouldn't have missed for a
million dollars, or take again for two million. I always
liked the sea and for years had heard the old salts at
Gloucester talk of their experiences on fishing schooners,
in high winds and rough seas. Their stories of the schoon-
ers, running for hours with the lee rail under and the
main boom dragging in the water, fascinated me.
As I said earlier, I have covered all the International
Fishermen's Races held off both Gloucester and Halifax,
and have seen some bitter weather, but nothing like the
stories I had heard from the oldtime seafarers.
In 1931* the American contender in the International
Fishermen's Races was the Gertrude L* Thebe&ud, skip-
pered by Captain Ben Pine of Gloucester, a rugged fisher-
man, who was considered the best racing skipper in the
port. Ben knew how to sail a schooner to get every bit of
speed possible from the wind that filled the sails. There
wasn't an ounce of fear in his body and he picked a crew,
man by man, which had those same qualifications.
The Gertrude L. Thebeaud had been going through
163
sailing tests off Gloucester for weeks to get her in the
finest possible shape for the race which was to be held off
Halifax. Day after day I had gone down to Gloucester and
sailed on the schooner while she was undergoing tests,
and finally Ben pronounced her perfect. He ordered her
into the shipyard where she was hauled out on the Marine
Railway, for a final cleaning and painting of her bottom,
for the trip to Halifax where she was to take part as the
American contender in the International Races.
As it was an international race, many of the New York
newspapers had sent men on from New York to cover the
test runs off Gloucester of this schooner before she left for
Halifax for the actual races.
Ben Pine was well liked by all the newspapermen and
they had given his schooner some fine publicity. As a good
will gesture, he invited all of them to make the trip from
Gloucester to Halifax on her. The boys all accepted the
invitation and were thrilled at the chance of being on
board when she sailed.
On the day of the sailing I went down to Gloucester
and found a large crew of shipfitters and painters putting
the final touches on the schooner, under Ben's direction.
She was still in the Marine Railway, high and dry, and
her underbottom was as slick as a racing yacht. Her dark
red underwater hull was capped with a narrow white boot
line, and above this was shining black with her name in
gold.
She was certainly beautiful to look at, with her var-
nished masts and booms. Her rigging sported all new
ropes and cables, and her new sails were furled and lashed
to the booms. As I remember the morning, there were
about ten newspapermen ready to board the ship for the
trip. While they were going to write this story and had
written many ship stories before, very few of them had
ever seen any real rough salt water, and the weather re-
port for that day had given high northwest winds. I could
164
see that some of them were beginning to wonder about
the advisability of taking the trip. They talked it over
more and more among themselves and finally, about an
hour before we were due to sail, one of them put a call
through to the Boston weather bureau and was told that
full gale winds would start during the early afternoon and
continue through the night. He came back to the shipyard
and reported his findings and they all decided it would be
better to go by steamer and train than on the schooner.
Tom Horgan, of the Associated Press, and I were stand-
ing together enjoying their conversations, for we were
both glad of the high winds and, with all the other news-
men off the schooner, we would have an exclusive story
and pictures on the trip. As far as we were concerned, we
had no fear of the weather, and we figured if the schooner
could take it we could, Ben Pine looked over the group of
newsmen and then came over to Tom and me and asked
us if we were going along. We assured him we were going
on board when he gave the word, and we would sail re-
gardless of the weather report.
Tom Horgan had a sailing yacht of his own and loved
the sea. I knew that he had the same feeling I had; the
rougher it got the better we liked it. Ben Pine was a very
disappointed man that day for he had been suffering from
a sinus condition with piercing headaches and his doctor
had told him that he could not sail to Halifax, as he must
have another treatment for his sinus the next day. Then
he could go to Halifax by train. The treatment was an
absolute necessity and without it he would be in such
condition that he couldn't handle the schooner for the
races.
Ben had picked Captain John Matheson to take com-
mand of the schooner on the trip from Gloucester, and we
all knew he would make a good showing for speed as he
had handled schooners on the fishing banks for years and
knew the Gertrude L. Thebeaud and all her idiosyn-
165
crasies. Every schooner handles differently in different
types of weather, and John had been at the wheel of this
one under all conditions.
The crew of the schooner consisted of Gloucester's best.
Five of them were captains taking regular deck jobs, and
any one of the five could step in as skipper in an emer-
gency. Harry Christensen, a man well along in his sixties,
was boss rigger of the schooner and he went along as a
crew member. I knew he wasn't a youngster any more and
I asked him one day, when he came down from the mast-
head on a boatswain's chair, why he didn't do the deck
work and let some of the younger men go aloft. He said
he liked it aloft, working from the chair, because his feet
hurt him and he didn't like to work on deck.
Jack Hackett was mainmast headsman, and John Spar-
row was foremast headsman. These two fellows would stay
up on the crosstrees, a hundred feet above the deck, all
during the races to manipulate the topsails and staysails
during the race.
Angus Beck was engineer on the Thebeaud when she
was fishing but now the engine was removed and Angus
went along as a crew member. He knew the schooner and
was an able man in any position. Lewis Francis was cook
and known to all the crew as "Bowser." He could certainly
cook and Tom and I kept him busy on the trip. Larry
McEwen and Bill LaCasse were efficient members of the
crew and proved their mettle during the trip. Nate
McLeod, a hotelkeeper at East Gloucester, had many
years of experience at sea and he went along as a mem-
ber of the crew. He kept everyone in good spirits with his
jokes and wisecracks.
I noticed a man standing around on the wharf, and won-
dered who he was as I had never seen him at the schooner
before. I asked Ben Pine and he told me that he was the
"Beverly Meat Cutter." Ben said he had wanted to go on
the trip but the large group of newspapermen, originally
166
scheduled, had frozen him out. But now that only Tom
and I were going he had told this fellow he could come
along. We never did find out his name, and only knew
him as the "Beverly Meat Cutter."
It was about noon when Ben Pine decided we were
ready and told us all to go aboard. We climbed the ladder
onto the deck and then Ben came on board to get the
crew together. He told us we would be going into a howl-
ing northwester and to keep every piece of canvas on her
that we could carry. Almost with tears in his eyes, he then
shook hands with our skipper and climbed back down the
ladder to the ground.
He signaled the engineer in charge of the Marine Rail-
way and slowly the cradle started toward the water. We
settled down and a small tug came alongside, as soon as
we were afloat, and started to turn the schooner toward
the open water. As we started to hoist the mains'l, Ben Pine
shouted to Captain Matheson, "Give her hell and show
them some speed! "
As soon as the mains! started up, bedlam let loose in
the town. All the factory whistles started to sound off, and
every schooner in the harbor blew its fog horn. Cars, lined
on the docks, tooted their horns, and the crowds on the
wharves cheered and whistled a final salute, as we started
down the harbor. Every wharf was decorated with flags
and banners, blowing in the breeze that was starting to
make its first real appearance.
Large pleasure boats, loaded with well-wishers, trav-
eled along with us and the entire Coast Guard fleet from
the Gloucester base, decorated with all their signal flags,
started the nautical procession toward the breakwater.
The Gertrude L. Thebeaud had no power on board
and all sails had to be handled by hand. I made a few pic-
tures to show the send-off we were getting, and then I put
the camera below decks and mixed in with the crew, giv-
ing a hand hoisting the sails.
167
The sails fitted beautifully and the schooner soon took
on a businesslike heel as more sail was unfurled to the
breeze. We were beginning now to take on more speed
and were gradually running away from some of the
smaller boats. The yachtsmen were firing cannon salutes,
and it was a grand departure celebration.
When we rounded the Gloucester breakwater thou-
sands of people were lining it, and the rocky shore, to
wave a last farewell. The lighthouse dipped the flag in
final salute, and the Gertrude L. Thebeaud pointed her
bow for Nova Scotia.
Shortly after we cleared the breakwater, we started to
get the real effect of the wind, and the lee rail dipped
into the water a few times. We were really traveling, and
the Coast Guard cutters were having trouble keeping up
with us. The crew was busy making ropes shipshape, and
doing a general straightening out on deck.
Within an hour the cutters gave a final three blast
salute on their horns and sirens, and turned back to
Gloucester. We were now on our own, traveling alone.
The American flag was flying from the top edge of the
mains'l to let every passing ship know that we were the
Yankee contender for the International Race honors.
Just before we left the shipyard, it was discovered that
the ship had no taffrail log to give us the miles traveled
each hour, and Nate McLeod, the hotel owner, said he
had one and would rush home for it. He produced the log
and, when we cleared the breakwater, the log was put
overboard and a reading taken on the log dial.
Every mile we sailed away from shore brought stronger
winds and rougher seas. I noticed the "Beverly Meat
Cutter" was getting a little pale and I advised him to go
below and He in his bunk for a while. He didn't need any
urging, and this was the last we saw of him until the next
morning.
About three o'clock in the afternoon we were really
168
taking high seas and wind, and Captain Matheson decided
to take off some of the sails. Jack Hackett and John Spar-
row went aloft, and the crew took down the main and
fore tops'Is, along with the stays'! and jib tops'l. The wind
was really howling now and blowing the tops off the
waves, sending spray onto the deck. Various estimates
were coming from the different skippers on the ship and
they ranged all the way from forty to sixty miles an hour.
I could detect the first signs of worry among them about
the wind.
We were still carrying large racing sails which were
much bigger than those ordinarily used when she was on
fishing trips. The mains'l, fores'l, jib and jumbo jib were
still up, and holding every breath of wind that struck
them; and they must remain up for they had no downhaul
lines.
Members of the crew, all veterans of the sea, were be-
ginning to talk a little about the wind and agreed it was
getting stronger by the minute. The lee rail was well
under water all the time, and the main boom was dipping
in the water. The lines which had been stowed by the
crew were being washed around on the deck, and some
were trailing in the water at the stern.
Tom and I were talking about the speed we were mak-
ing and wondering how the other newspapermen were
doing on the steamer, for we knew it was going to be
plenty rough for them too.
The crew, by now, had found out that the log which we
had put overboard when we cleared the Gloucester break-
water was useless as it hadn't registered anything. This
meant we had no idea where we were as we couldn't plot
our position on a chart without the mileage.
Captain Matheson was worried about this, although we
would be all right as long as fog didn't set in to block off
our visibility of lighthouses which we would have to pick
up in the night. Ahead of us, somewhere, was Seal Island
169
and that would be the first thing we should see during
the night. During the trial runs off Gloucester, as the ship
was being put into shape, many changes had been made
in the rigging and the engines had been removed. All this
might have changed the deviation of the compass on the
ship, and it was now our only instrument by which to
navigate.
The Gertrude L. Thebeaud was probably in her worst
storm, and she was certainly taking it. Astern o us we
were leaving a long foaming wake such as you would
expect to see behind a destroyer, or some fast steamship.
The waves were rolling eight to ten feet high and the tops
were being blown off them onto the deck as in a heavy
rainstorm.
Everyone had on oilskins, and rubber boots to try to
keep dry. Many of the crew members, while still at their
posts, were beginning to look pale and were getting sea-
sick. I have never felt any different on sea than on land,
and I was beginning to wonder why I felt so good. Tom
Horgan was really enjoying it too. He had worked his way
forward to Bowser, the cook, and had returned with a
couple of hot biscuits with ham and cheese between
them. The sight of Tom with these huge sandwiches
didn't seem to make the sick members of the crew feel very
happy.
Every cable and rope on the ship was slapping and
whining as the wind roared through them. The rope
reefing lines in the sails were pounding and there was
such a din of noise it was hard to even talk. Ropes were
strung at different points on the deck for life lines as the
crew found it hard to move around on deck. The wind-
ward or portside of the ship was so high out of water, and
at such an angle, that we could have sat on the side of the
hull.
Captain Matheson told Tom Horgan and me that we
had better go forward and have chow with the first sit-
170
ting. He asked us how we were and we told him we felt
fine. He laughed and said, "You better keep feeling that
way for we're in for a dirty night and we may need you
both in the crew before daylight."
We went forward and Bowser had lamb chops and
boiled potatoes. It was impossible to set the table, for the
dishes slid off the instant they were placed. The ship's
stove, even with the railing around it, was presenting a
problem. We sat with our backs to the table, braced our
feet on the starboard side bunks, bent our knees to form
our table, and proceeded to eat. Everything tasted won-
derful but eating was difficult. Every mouthful seemed
to head for my eye instead of my mouth as the ship went
up and down in rapid succession. We would start to lift
and wonder when we were going to stop; and then down
with a thundering crash; and the bow would go through
a wave sending a shudder through the whole ship.
There were no mistaken ideas on the schooner that
night. Everyone on board was nervous and afraid of what
might happen if the wind continued to increase. Some of
the old captains, who were acting as crew members, were
complaining about all the canvas we were carrying, and
the fact that nobody had looked to see if downhauls were
on before we left the harbor.
We finished chow and then started back, hand over
hand, on the deck to the hatch going down to the main
cabin. Captain Matheson told us we had better go below
and stay there for the rest of the night as it was getting
dangerous on deck, and he was ordering everyone below,
except those on actual watch.
The barometer was being checked every few minutes
by some member of the crew, and they all gave the same
answer, 'It's still dropping." About eight o'clock at night
we were being rolled and tossed as I could never imagine
possible and still stay in one piece. Larry McEwen and
Bill LaCasse went topside to take their turns at the wheel.
171
It was blowing so hard, and the ship was being tossed so
violently that it was necessary for two men to be at the
wheel to hold it. Both of these fellows were lashed to the
wheel with lines, as soon as they took their positions, to
keep them from being washed overboard.
The proud Gertrude L. Thebeaud was riding one wave
and diving through the next one, and every wave she put
her bow through sent a flow of green water down the deck
and off the stern. The man at the low side of the wheel
was standing in water up to his knees most of the time,
and at times when the waves came down the deck, it
would roll around both of them up to their waists.
Inside the cabin it was impossible to stand on the floor,
for it was actually at such an angle that it was a wall. The
old potbellied ship's stove, anchored to the middle of the
cabin floor, stood off almost at right angles. There was an
old-fashioned kerosene oil lamp hung in a swinging
bracket, which kept it perpendicular regardless of the
ship's list. It seemed like a cra2y world when I looked
from the angle of that lamp, to the door casings, to the
floor.
We could hear the planking working back and forth as
the seas pounded the ship, and every time a wave washed
down the deck a fall of water would run down into the
cabin. The bunks on starboard had all the mattresses from
the portside, as the port bunks were up so high every-
thing fell out and dropped into the starboard bunks.
It was impossible to lie in a bunk, for the angle
wouldn't allow it. The starboard bunks were down, and
water was beginning to show in them from leaks that were
developing, and also from water which sluiced down the
hatchway every time a wave rolled along the deck.
About ten thirty at night Angus Beck came back to the
main cabin and said he was wet and cold, and he thought
we would all feel better if we had a fire in the stove. I
laughed and told him that all we needed, to have every-
172
thing complete, was for him to set the ship afire with the
stove at its crazy angle. He assured me that it was all right.
He opened the door, saw a lot of material in it, and de-
cided the fire was ready to light. This he did, and then we
were in for something real. The stove started to smoke, as
it had been filled with trash which had been swept up
from the deck before we left. This consisted of small
pieces of rope, some plain and some tarred; small pieces
of canvas, old paint rags and a general collection of mate-
rial, all of which were capable of the best in smoke and
fumes.
It reminded me of a story of the fellow who said when-
ever he got into a strange town and wanted to get some
information, he always went to a cigar store, for they knew
all the ropes. We certainly knew all the ropes before the
fire burned out, for we smelled the burning pieces of
every kind of rope on the ship.
Around midnight I was beginning to get weary, and
Tom Horgan was trying to figure out a way of lashing our-
selves into a bunk so we could get to sleep. Everything
was wet and the ship was bouncing around so much that
it was hard to hold ourselves in any position. Men were
lashed to the pump on the deck midships, and were
pumping continually to keep us free of water.
I finally decided to take a look outside and see if it was
getting any worse than it had been a few hours before. I
managed to get my head outside the main cabin hatch
and I saw water everywhere. More than half the boom
was dragging in the water and it seemed as though half of
the ship's deck was under. White foam and waves were
washing over the entire deck and I wondered if we were
still on the surface.
After hearing the howl of the wind and the roar of the
seas, I began to think we would never see Halifax, and
another fishing schooner would be leaving only telltale
pieces of wreckage to identify her fate.
173
Some of the fishing captains came in the cabin at times,
and each of them left the impression with us that they
were afraid and doubted if the schooner would make it.
One said he had been to sea in about everything, but this
was the first time he had ever been to sea in a bathtub. He
commented on the fact that there wasn't a dry spot on the
ship, and with the canvas we were carrying he didn't think
we would ever see land.
We continued to watch the ship's planking inside the
cabin and could see each plank move or work against the
next one, every time the ship dived into a wave. Tom
Morgan had been out in small craft in storms, but he
admitted he had never seen anything like this. I was get-
ting lame and stiff from trying to keep a grip on some-
thing solid to hold me, for I knew if I let go I would be
thrown around in the cabin and probably have my head
bashed in.
Larry McEwen and Bill LaCasse were lashed to the
wheel most of the night, holding the ship on course. A
good part of the time they were in water up to their waists
and this, along with the spray whipping off the waves and
the roar of the wind rushing through the rigging, gave
them a job that only men of iron nerves and strength
could have endured.
All through the schooner could be heard creaking
sounds and squeaks that made everyone fearful that she
was starting to break apart, and still there was no sign of
the wind easing up.
At four o'clock in the morning someone on deck spotted
a flashing white light dead ahead and, according to all the
skippers, this light should not be there. The first light to
show up on our course should be Seal Island, but we fig-
ured this wouldn't be for hours, although we had no log
line to give us our speed, and nobody knew how fast we
were going.
When the light showed ahead, all the skippers worked
174
their way up on deck and started to count the elapsed
time between the flashes. One of the captains said it was
Lurcher Shoals which guards the ledges off Yarmouth,
Nova Scotia, and another captain said it was Seal Island.
Both Lurchers Ledge and Seal Island are white flashing
lights. Our skipper had set his course for Seal Island when
we cleared the Gloucester breakwater, but with the storm
pounding us all night and the possible error in the com-
pass and no log to check our distance, it could have easily
been either of the two. The skippers all watched the light
as we bore down on it under the full fury of the wind and
sea.
If it was Seal Island we would change our course at the
light, and set a course to clear Cape Sable; then we would
be in deep water along the easterly coast of Nova Scotia.
If this light happened to be Lurcher Ledge and we mis-
took it for Seal Island, and steered the course for Cape
Sable, we would pile in on the outer ledges of Yarmouth.
This, of course, would mean disaster, and here a wrong
decision would mean all our lives. With the high seas and
flying spray, the light would be blocked from vision at
times, and it was almost impossible to make an accurate
check on the light.
Finally one of the masthead men took his life in his
hands and went up the rigging far enough so that he
could see the light clearly. When he came down he said he
thought it was Seal Island. Captain Matheson had at all
times said it was Seal Island, but with the group of other
skippers on board, and with some of them doubting it,
the final decision was hard to make. But Captain Mathe-
son declared it to be Seal Island and ordered the course
changed for a run which would pick up a light buoy off
Cape Sable.
When we changed our course, the wind was more on
our stern, and we then started to ride and sink down into
the long rolling swells. At six o'clock, one of the lookouts
175
sighted the light off Cape Sable, and in a short time we
rounded the light and set a course up close to land on the
easterly shore of Nova Scotia. Within twenty minutes we
were in plain sight of land and running along under its
shelter.
Here the wind died down and the sea was calm. The
sun came up and everyone went on deck. Captain Mathe-
son looked over the ship to see if any damage had been
done during the run. With everything in condition, he
ordered the full racing sails put on and the masthead
men went aloft. In a short time we were making fast time
with all the top'ls and stays! driving us along.
Some of the lighthouse keepers on the coast had spotted
us and reported us to Halifax as passing their lighthouse
at a certain time. Nobody would believe it was the Ger-
trude L. Thebeaud, as no sailing ship had ever made a
crossing with such speed.
The weather was balmy, and bright sunshine warmed
the decks. The crew was exhausted from fighting the
storm all night, and it didn't take the men long to get
breakfast and then stretch out on the deck for a nap. Tom
Horgan and I were both dog tired, but after we went
down in the galley and sampled some of Bowser's break-
fast we felt fine and came up on deck to really enjoy the
day as we sailed close to shore oh our course to Halifax.
At certain places we were so near we could see the farms
and fishing shacks that line this beautiful coast.
I asked one of the crewmen if he had seen the Beverly
Meat Cutter, as I hadn't seen him since we left the
Gloucester breakwater. He told me he had seen him dur-
ing the night and thought for a while he was dead, but
that he thought he was still up in the forepeak in his
bunk.
Realizing that the scenery was something which the
Meat Cutter should enjoy, I went below and found him
still in his bunk, afraid to try to get up. He finally worked
176
up enough courage to go up on deck with me, and after
a few minutes in the fresh air and sunshine he was him-
self again.
At six o'clock that night we dropped anchor inside
Georges Island in Halifax, Nova Scotia. We had made
the trip from the Gloucester breakwater to Halifax Har-
bor in just thirty-one hours, an average of better than six-
teen knots an hour for the entire distance, a record that
has never been equaled by any fishing vessel and one I
think will always stand. As we rowed ashore from the
schooner we looked at the sides of the hull, and the beau-
tiful black hull that we saw when we boarded the ship
at Gloucester was now a series of white lines. The putty
had pushed out of every seam as the planking worked
and moved during the pounding the ship took during the
night.
When I put my feet on the dry land, I realized I had
completed something I had always wanted to do. I had
taken a trip on a fishing schooner in a storm, and I will
repeat I wouldn't have missed it for a million dollars, but
I wouldn't do it again for two million.
In the racing series which was held during the next two
weeks, for the championship of the North Atlantic, the
Gertrude L. Thebeaud made a fine showing; but the
Bluenose, the Canadian contender, romped over the finish
line as the winner in each race; and sailed back to her
home port of Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, with the Inter-
national Fisherman's trophy in her cabin.
The Bluenose was a longer schooner which gave her
the advantage in rough weather, during this series. It
seemed to me, as I covered these races, that the Bluenose
was just enough longer along the waterline to span the
waves, while the shorter Gertrude L. Thebeaud seemed
to miss spanning them and put her bow down into each
wave.
The Gertrude L. Thebeaud met the fate of every
177
sighted the light off Cape Sable, and in a short time we
rounded the light and set a course up close to land on the
easterly shore of Nova Scotia. Within twenty minutes we
were in plain sight o land and running along under its
shelter.
Here the wind died down and the sea was calm. The
sun came up and everyone went on deck. Captain Mathe-
son looked over the ship to see if any damage had been
done during the run. With everything in condition, he
ordered the full racing sails put on and the masthead
men went aloft. In a short time we were making fast time
with all the top'ls and stays! driving us along.
Some of the lighthouse keepers on the coast had spotted
us and reported us to Halifax as passing their lighthouse
at a certain time. Nobody would believe it was the Ger-
trude L. Thebeaudj as no sailing ship had ever made a
crossing with such speed.
The weather was balmy, and bright sunshine warmed
the decks. The crew was exhausted from fighting the
storm all night, and it didn't take the men long to get
breakfast and then stretch out on the deck for a nap. Tom
Horgan and I were both dog tired, but after we went
down in the galley and sampled some of Bowser's break-
fast we felt fine and came up on deck to really enjoy the
day as we sailed close to shore oh our course to Halifax.
At certain places we were so near we could see the farms
and fishing shacks that line this beautiful coast.
I asked one of the crewmen if he had seen the Beverly
Meat Cutter, as I hadn't seen him since we left the
Gloucester breakwater. He told me he had seen him dur-
ing the night and thought for a while he was dead, but
that he thought he was still up in the forepeak in his
bunk.
Realizing that the scenery was something which the
Meat Cutter should enjoy, I went below and found him
still in his bunk, afraid to try to get up. He finally worked
176
up enough courage to go up on deck with me, and after
a few minutes in the fresh air and sunshine he was him-
self again.
At six o'clock that night we dropped anchor inside
Georges Island in Halifax, Nova Scotia. We had made
the trip from the Gloucester breakwater to Halifax Har-
bor in just thirty-one hours, an average of better than six-
teen knots an hour for the entire distance, a record that
has never been equaled by any fishing vessel and one I
think will always stand. As we rowed ashore from the
schooner we looked at the sides of the hull, and the beau-
tiful black hull that we saw when we boarded the ship
at Gloucester was now a series of white lines. The putty
had pushed out of every seam as the planking worked
and moved during the pounding the ship took during the
night.
When I put my feet on the dry land, I realized I had
completed something I had always wanted to do. I had
taken a trip on a fishing schooner in a storm, and I will
repeat I wouldn't have missed it for a million dollars, but
I wouldn't do it again for two million.
In the racing series which was held during the next two
weeks, for the championship of the North Atlantic, the
Gertrude L. Thebeaud made a fine showing; but the
Bluenose, the Canadian contender, romped over the finish
line as the winner in each race; and sailed back to her
home port of Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, with the Inter-
national Fisherman's trophy in her cabin.
The Bluenose was a longer schooner which gave her
the advantage in rough weather, during this series. It
seemed to me, as I covered these races, that the Bluenose
was just enough longer along the waterline to span the
waves, while the shorter Gertrude L. Thebeaud seemed
to miss spanning them and put her bow down into each
wave.
The Gertrude L. Thebeaud met the fate of every
177
one of the fishing racers, and has been lost at sea. A long
list of beautiful, fast fishing schooners, from Canada and
the United States which took part in these races, shows
them all as lost at sea, or wrecked. Some of these well
known ships were the Elsie, Delewana, Elizabeth Howard,
Columbia, Mayflower, Bluenose and the Gertrude L. The-
beaud.
These fishing racers were not only the pride of their
home ports but, because of their speed, they were prof-
itable to the fishing industry, for they could make faster
runs to their market ports.
The captains who commanded them were usually se-
lected skippers, and were as proud of their schooners as
the owner of a string of race horses is of an outstanding
horse in his stable. But the days of sailing vessels in the
fishing industry are gone, and the machine age has taken
over in another enterprise. Today, Beam Trawlers sail
from these ports, and the thrill of the crews racing each
other into port from the banks, under full sail, is gone
forever.
178
Chapter XIII
IN THE EVENT I have given you the impression, in
these pages, that I am an old fogey, retired and living on
my memories, let me hasten to correct it. I am now fifty-
one years old and am busily engaged in news work, al-
though I am no longer on the staff of a newspaper syndi-
cate.
My present position is publicity manager o both the
Boston & Maine and the Maine Central Railroads, han-
dling news releases and advertising. All my years in the
newspaper business have given me background, experi-
ence, and a long list of contacts which are now priceless
tome.
During the years I was reporting news I met hundreds
of the leading people of the world including kings and
queens, presidents, national heroes and sport leaders. In
those years I watched, and took part in the steady progress
which transformed the business from a relatively slow
means of gathering news to one of terrific speed, as it is
today.
In the old days the rough and ready newspaperman
used his own ingenuity, when on a story, to find means of
getting it, and his pictures, into the newspapers a day or
more ahead of competition.
Today the business has been taken over by the machine
age, and all the thrills that went with early newspaper
179
reporting have gone. Today the newspaper reporting game
has very few more thrills than those o the ordinary
salesman because today the wirephoto machine sends pic-
tures all over the country, in a matter of minutes, from
the point where the story originates, and high speed
teletype machines are pounding it out, along with the
picture.
To give a comparison of the way a story was covered
in my early days, let me tell the Mundelein story. Arch-
bishop Mundelein, of Chicago, was to be made a Cardinal
at Rome, and my New York office wanted to get the first
pictures of the actual ceremony, elevating him to this
high church office.
A photographer was sent on a ship from New York with
the archbishop, with instructions to work with The New
York Times Bureau men in Rome, get pictures of the
ceremony, and send them back to New York the fastest
possible way. He covered the ceremony and then hired a
plane to fly the pictures to England where it was met by
men from the London Bureau of the Times. They put the
pictures on a ship sailing that day for New York, and sent
a radiogram to the New York office telling them that the
purser on the ship had the pictures and that the ship
would be the first one into New York, but was making a
short stop at Halifax, Nova Scotia on the way.
Upon receiving the radiogram in our New York office,
they naturally thought they would be ahead of all com-
petition with the pictures, but after the ship was on the
high seas a full day, our bureau in Rome learned that one
of our competitors had done the same thing, and that the
purser had these pictures also. This, of course, would take
the "beat" from our pictures.
Knowing that the ship was making a stop at Halifax,
The New York Times decided they could still beat the
competition. They called me on the phone to tell me to
catch the next train to Halifax and wait for a wire from
180
them which would give me full instructions. They didn't
say what I was to do, but told me to leave my camera
equipment at home.
At Halifax I waited for three days for a wire, and I
don't mind saying that those three days were anxious ones
for me as I had no idea where I was going or what I was
to do.
On the evening of the third day I got a wire telling me
they hadn't given me the details of this story before
lest there be a possible leak to our competition during
the handling of the wire. I received, along with the wire,
a money order for five hundred dollars and instructions,
complete to the last detail. I was to go at once to the Hali-
fax Port Authorities and arrange to board the ship the
instant it dropped anchor in Halifax Outer Harbor; get
the package of pictures from the purser; then take the
first train directly into New York with the pictures, and
wire the office at every change I made on the train so they
could have everything geared to put the pictures out in a
rush.
I made the arrangements with the Halifax Port Author-
ities, who were very cooperative, and then hired a
large tugboat to take me to the ship. The tug was to stand
by until I was ready to leave, then take me back to the
city. I made my train reservations, and bright and early
the next morning I was on the tug, steaming down Hali-
fax Harbor.
The sun was just coming up, sending long golden
streaks across the glassy calm waters of the harbor. The
skipper soon spotted the ship and told me they would
drop anchor about the same time that we arrived at the
boarding point.
The Halifax Harbor Authority cutter was already at its
station waiting for the ship, and when we pulled along-
side, they told me to come on board their ship to save
time. As soon as the ship dropped anchor a rope ladder
181
was lowered. I went on with the boarding authorities and
quickly found the purser, who produced my package of
pictures. The instant I got them I headed for the rope
ladder, was taken off by the tug, and rushed into the city
where I boarded the train, with too little time to get a
wire off to New York.
On board the train I wrote the wire and filed it at the
first stop. During the night the porter woke me to give me
a wire received from my New York office, telling me a
motorcycle messenger would meet me at Grand Central
Station with a letter of identification. I was to give him
the pictures as soon as I checked his identification, and
he would rush the pictures to the New York office of the
Times, where they would be received by a crew which
was waiting for them.
I arrived in New York at about eight-thirty in the morn-
ing and the messenger rushed the pictures to the office
on his motorcycle while I went in a taxi.
The ship, which I had met at Halifax, arrived in New
York Harbor about five hours after I had reached the
office, but that five hours gave us a beat in New York, and
a five-hour lead in Chicago and other large cities. This
beat on the pictures allowed the Times to charge pre-
mium prices for them to the newspapers, and these prices
more than paid the cost of the trip.
That was the way pictures were rushed in those days.
Today the same story would be handled with modern
methods of high speed. Covering that same story, if it
were to take place today, would be a very simple proce-
dure. A photographer from the Rome Bureau would make
the pictures and rush prints from the negative, about
twelve minutes from the time it was taken; give it to the
R. C. A. Radio, or one of the other radio stations, to be
transmitted to New York in about fifteen minutes. There
it would be sent over a coast-to-coast telephone network
182
and be received simultaneously in newspaper offices in
every large city in the country.
This example gives some idea of why I think the thrill
and glamor have left the newspaper business, and how
the machine age has taken away the possibilities of the
old-fashioned scoop or beat.
During the time I was in the business great strides were
also made in speeding up photography. In my early days,
a photographer went on a story with a Graflex camera,
glass photographic plates, a tripod which was a necessity
on most pictures, a bottle of flash powder, a flashpan and
a box of caps. An exposure meter was unknown. Outside
night pictures meant an almost even chance that the
photographer would be badly burned before he got his
picture. Inside night pictures meant flashpowder and a
room filled with smoke after the first shot.
Rapid strides were made in camera equipment. The
eye level speedgraphic camera replaced the Graflex, on
the average story. The slow glass plates were made faster
in their emulsion and then the cut film eliminated the
glass plate entirely. This saved a great amount of packing,
which was necessary in shipping picture stories to the
New York office. High speed fine grained emulsion was
possible on the cut film and some of the pictures, which
had to be made by flashlight before, could be made on this
fast film by snapshot.
Then came the greatest step in modern photography,
the flashbulb which did away with flashpowder and all
its smoke and danger. In a short time the flashbulb was
synchronized to the camera shutter and this did away with
the tripod, allowing the photographer to make action
shots at night, and opening up an entirely new field for
sport coverage.
Next came the new type fast lenses, two and three
times faster than the fastest lenses formerly used. This
opened up the field of candid camera photography and
now we have the high speed electronic flash which will
make a picture in a ten-thousandth of a second, which will
stop the photographic movement of a bullet leaving a
gun, so the photograph will show all the details of the
bullet in flight.
Today the national news syndicate photographer goes
on a story with all this modern equipment, a small port-
able dark room and a portable wirephoto machine, with
which he can send a photograph to any part of the country
from an ordinary telephone paystation in a matter of
about eight minutes.
I doubt if any reader of the modern newspaper ever
stops to think, when he sees pictures spread across his
daily paper within a few hours of the time the event took
place, of the modern improved high speed equipment in
the hands of newspapermen today which makes this up-
to-date picture coverage possible.
I have been a part of this ever-changing progressive
era in the news business, and have used all the equipment
that is in operation today. I am proud to have been the
first person in the New England States to send a portable
transmission by wirephoto. I am also glad that I am in my
present position, actively associated with newspapers, but
no longer on the regular staff of the National News Serv-
ice, for as I have said before I think the real thrill of the
newspaperman has gone forever with the advent of the
modern machine age.
As I look back now on those years I spent as a news-
paperman, I have memories I will never forget. I have
been down in submarines during diving tests, aloft in
captive balloons, on board dirigibles in flight, sailed on
all types of naval vessels and have had well over fifteen
hundred hours in the air in all types of airplanes. I have
met hundreds of veteran newspapermen and many of the
younger men who are now starting in the business. I class
them all as my friends, and a grand bunch of fellows.
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