From Point A to Point B With a Trio of Postcards from the Los Angeles International Air Meet, 18 January 1910

by Paul R. Spitzzeri

Having shared, last week in a post here highlighting a newspaper page from the Museum’s collection, some history of the Los Angeles International Air Meet, a signal event in regional aviation, held at the Dominguez Ranch in what is now Compton, from 10-20 January 1910, we return with another look at some of the late events and happenings with our featured objects from the Homestead’s holdings being a trio of postcards published for the meet.

One of these, because of the inclusion of the name of Los Angeles as “The Angels” and the query “Why Shouldn’t We Fly?,” has an image of a concerned cherub at the controls of a very small aircraft sporting a banner with the city name at its tail. The second shows a variety of planes, balloons and even a man wearing wings aloft as part of “Greetings from Los Angeles, Cal.” The last shows an injured and disheveled family limping away from hordes surrounding a streetcar—a humorous commentary on the throngs who took public transit to the event—while a poor gent further back appears to be lacking a lower leg as he’s assisted by a couple of friends.

The cards were postmarked from Ontario on the 18th, so we’ll focus here on media coverage of the meet from the day from a quartet of major Los Angeles newspapers, with the Record of that Ladies’ Day running a large headline of “PAULHAN MADE FLIGHT IN SPITE OF WIND BLOWING 20 MILES AN HOUR.” This concerned an Arctic storm from the Pacific that meant the famed French aviator, Louis Paulhan, “undaunted by bad atmospheric conditions,” in the first flight of the afternoon, made at 20 minutes to 3:00, “came up from in front of his hangar and went up the back stretch,” though it was added that “the wind was blowing with such force that the plane had to be sent at top speed in order to make headway against it.”

To skirt the winds, Paulhan steered his craft higher than normal, some 200 feet, and, after he made a turn so the wind was at his back, “the plane traveled with the speed of an express train and was making over 50 miles an hour.” It was added that the sky ace “was way off course at all times but had absolute control of the plane” and that he was able to fly in the face of the winds, as well. The Record recorded,

The plane was blown off its course and this forced Paulhan to go over the heads of the people [in the grandstand and viewing areas]. When he made the turn and came in front of his hangar the aircraft was suddenly shifted and, at an angle of 30 degrees, the Frenchman headed for the earth. He dropped like a bird and alighted directly in front of his tent without a jar. It was a nervy exhibition, as the other aviators had been gazing at the sky with apprehension every minute and waiting for the wind to drop.

Separately, the paper reported that Dick Ferris, a key organizer, and Cortlandt F. Bishop, the president of the Aero Club of America, announced that Paulhan, after the meet flight, was to attempt to break a long-distance record by flying from the field to the long-closed horse race track, built by the late Elias J. “Lucky” Baldwin, at Arcadia and back. If successful, the 45-mile jaunt would surpass a British flyer’s record of 40 miles in not too far over an hour in England in September 1909.

In its coverage, the Express remarked that “the aviators found the high waves of the heavens eswept [sic] clean by a brisk wind” and that “the camp, which is usually like a great aviary at 2:15 p.m., was without a mechanical bird in the air at that time today, for boreas appeared to be temporarily in rather a boisterous mood and death would have ridden close beside the aviators who would have tempted fate by taking flight.”

While “all the crack machines were tuned and ready for action in the upper ozone,” the paper commented that Paulhan “sat perched like a sparrow” in his “ready to fly to the distant mountains, around the course or into the upper reaches of the sky, or wherever the impulse of the moments should direct his flights” once the wind died down. Meantime, “another immense pack of humanity thronged the camp . . . to see men travel the intangible trails of the atmosphere.” A captive balloon in the middle of the field was lifted rapidly by a gust with its occupant tossed about in the basket before it was finally brought back to earth by more than twenty men.

As for the weather, even though it was early winter, “genuine Southern California midwinter conditions prevailed” and each day was such that every part of the program was carried through.” This, in turn, ensured that there was a high degree of visitation and it was asserted that “the attendance has been all that could be expected and there now appears to be no reason why the money donated by loyal Los Angeles residents to make the meet possible will not be returned in full.”

Also apparently doing well were the concessionaires, while it was mentioned that “the lunchbox brigade” was a regular feature, as “almost every party of three or four came with baskets and boxes and there was a scene of hundreds of persons lunching in parts of the grandstand at noon.” The crowds were such that they were “regarded with almost wonder” and a frequently heard query was “where do they all come from?”

While there was Pacific Electric streetcar (using the same track that runs through the area today) and Southern Pacific steam train (six daily and three evening routes) service, automobile use was growing to the extent that a wood plank drive was installed to make access to the parking area easier. One driver was recorded as making the roughly 20-mile trip in 35 minutes, this a purported record, in a White steamer (with a steam engine and generator, while gas was used for engine burners.)

Highlighted, as well, was the observation that,

The “flying fan” promises to develop into as distinct a species as the baseball fan.

Where the baseball fan is raucous and the crankiest critic extent [extant], the “flying fan” is already showing himself to be a mild, patient, silent sort of creature, a fine waiter [as in waiting patiently] and the champion long-distance stayer . . .

[These] are to be found among those who have been at the camp every day since the meet started and have to be chased out of the grandstand by deputies every night . . .

He plants himself on a fine, large plank in the grandstand and enters upon the long wait, and he waits it out with never a protest . . .

Strange, silent, patient creatures, these “flying fans.”

The Express also reported that there were sanguine hopes for several new records to be broken, including for endurance, with Paulhan and Charles K. Hamilton, this latter known as a “crazy man of the air” for his stunts and precarious maneuvers, cited as vying for these achievements. Because of the dedicated day, the crowds of women were substantial and this “showed clearly that the members of the Women’s Aero Club of Southern California had been active in boosting for the meet.”

An editorial from the paper sang the praises of David A. Hamburger, whose family long operated a highly successful department store that was taken over in 1923 by the May Company and who was chair of the meet’s organizing committee. He was credited for “an executive ability and an unselfish zeal” as well as “such fine powers, quick energy and large capacity” for guiding a process that was “at a heavy sacrifice of his private and personal interest.”

The paper previously provided a testament to another core figure, Dick Ferris, and concluded that “Los Angeles will never forget such services” offered by Hamburger “who unselfishly directed all, and backed the enterprise with his sustaining private fortune no less than by his personal indefatigable labor.” This led the paper to remark that, “Los Angeles is rich in the possession of such sons.”

The Herald, in its edition of the 19th, heralded Paulhan’s record-breaking endurance feat in flight to Arcadia, informing readers that the flight was made in just under an hour and three minutes with a peak attitude of a bit shy of 2,000 feet and a “complete circuit of Santa Anita racetrack made.” The paper’s reporter, Shirley A. Olympius, whose name surely sounds like a nom de plume, but was a real one and who wrote for the Herald in 1909-1910, including daily reports from the meet, remarked,

Monsieur Louis Paulhan, bird man, rode on the wings of the wind yesterday from Aviation park out over the green fields of the fertile San Gabriel valley to the foothills which rise from the edge of the historic “Lucky” Baldwin ranch, circled the Santa Anita racetrack, turned in his course and worked his way back to his hangar in the center of the big course at Rancho San Pedro . . .

Thus has Paulhan, the greatest aviator of them all, added new laurels to his large wreath, $10,000 to his pocketbook and to history a page which will not soon be blotted out and which will be read in millions of homes in every quarter of the globe when the morning coffee is served.

The French flyer’s fame was inscribed on “the scroll of the immortals” twice during the meet, with his record flight to Arcadia and back following the event in which “he went up into the sky so far that instruments failed to record his flight when he became a mere speck in the field of the strongest binocular[s].” It was remarked that, when he disembarked from his craft after the long-distance run, he merely uttered, “ah, it was great sport,” while it was added, “Los Angeles was proud of its visitor as only Los Angeles know how to be proud.”

Moreover, the Herald continued, “he may be France’s son, but he is Los Angeles’ history maker, and Los Angeles is proud of him” and Paulhan’s trip to the San Gabriel Valley was essayed in great detail, including the fact that the French national anthem, Le Marseillaise, was played as he left the Dominguez field. It was noted that he had the strong winds in his favor, while his wife, purportedly in tears, following in an automobile, and others along the route “eyes . . . turned Paulhanward.”

Arcadia was reached in a half-hour, though it was cleverly observed that the burg’s founder, “Lucky” Baldwin “died too soon” and that “he was lucky in many ways, but was not lucky enough to have lived until the time when the masters of the air added their mite to the fame of his race track by flying around the course.” After circuiting the long-shuttered track, the target of zealous moralists, Paulhan flew into the teeth of the still-strong winds, though he flew higher to mitigate its effects and, when he returned, the French anthem was again played and tens of thousands of people roared when he touched down.

With women throwing kisses, men rushing the field to shake his hand, his crew in rapture and a crowd taking him on their shoulders, leading Paulhan to insist, “no, no. Let me down, if you please,” Madame Paulhan soon arrived, both crying and laughing in joy and pride. It was added that the builder of his plane, Henri Farman, completed a 40-mile one-way flight in France in late June 1909 that took an hour and five minutes, while Louis Blériot was acclaimed for his trip across the English Channel a month later, but Paulhan’s achievement was considered greater.

In an editorial, the Herald gushed that the,

Success of Aviation week is due in great measure to the hard work of a few individuals, gallant citizens of Los Angeles, men of the type that made our metropolis famous, far-sighted, sagacious and not afraid to venture in paths unknown. They are pioneers, just as surely and as truly as the foresters and farmers and prairie breakers of old were pioneers. The names of Dick Ferris, D.A. Hamburger, William Garland [who also led the committee organizing the 1932 summer Olympic Games in the Angel City] and Fred Baker occur readily when typical instances are asked for. The success of Aviation week is traceable to origins directly connected with the personal initiative of these men.

The Times also covered Paulhan’s flight to Arcadia and back in great deal, offering much of the same breathless prose as its contemporary, though it also offered a view from a correspondent in neighboring Monrovia, who wrote of the approach of the Farman craft which was “like some winged monster from Mesozoic time” as residents of the San Gabriel Valley towns flocked to the closed race track as “the burr of the motor, the huge wings glinting in the sunlight, the fierce swoop across the sky line and the tangible menace of the thing that soared above the tree tops, caused eerie thrills.”

An interesting comparison was made between the aviator and “the giant condors which in years gone by sailed down from their eyrie in Eaton Canyon.” The unnamed writer also pointed out that “‘Airline’ has a new significance to those” who rushed out to Arcadia to see Paulhan and “could not believe that he had already driven his purring monster across the broad valley.” The account continued,

A hint of the possibilities of aero-travel is contained in the fact that with present conditions of highways, flood-wrecked bridges and guttered roads, it is doubtful if an auto could reach Paulhan’s vanishing point in two hours.

There were, it was reported, on a trio of people who witnessed Paulhan’s arrival at the track before he did his circling and then returned to the air meet. Fred Gale, the long-time cartoonist for the Times, provided his rendering of “When Paulhan flew over Boyle Heights yesterday” and showing an array of gawking “Boyle Highlander” observers with necks craned toward the sky. This included one, who exclaimed, “Gosh! This is the most excitement I’ve seen since they used to call this place Pimple Hill.”

As for attendance, the Times recorded that the daily average was about 20,000 and that the Pacific Electric depot in downtown Los Angeles was thronged by riders and cars “crowded to the guards” during the peak hours of 12:30 to 2 p.m. The return cars from 4:00 to 5:30 p.m. were reached in a more orderly fashion in recent days thanks to the installation of new fences and gates “though each train is packed until breathing requires effort.” The gates meant that “people clog in solid masses” and “hats are twisted, children are jammed and friends are often separated” as the groups clambered aboard, but at least there were groups handled in sections.

With respect to autos, the paper noted that “they are parked five and six deep in places,” though “some of the more ambitious drivers send their machines” to slopes near the grandstand, only to find, upon leaving, that it was tougher to negotiate an exit than those who parked in a far corner of the field. Moreover, “accidents are avoided only by constant use of the horns.” Horses and buggies were also found, with the animals unharnessed and ties to the vehicles’ wheels. Aviator Charles F. Willard told the press, “these people are the finest stickers in the world,” meaning that they were patient and well-behaved, leading the Times to comment, “it is the best-natured crowd on earth.”

In an editorial, the Times wondered why, for an international air meet with competitors from just three countries (France, Germany and the United States), there were no British flyers and understood a main reason was a lack of enough space for fields near larger population centers. There were, however, great advances made for aircraft to take off and land in smaller spaces suitable for “that right little, tight little isle” and it was marveled at that machines “can be brought to rest in a comparatively small circuit, and strike the ground with an impact that scarcely shakes the machinery.”

As noted in the post last week, we have more artifacts, including great photos, from the air meet, so we’ll certainly return to cover more of the specific days of the event in future posts.