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Sikorsky S-35: The plane that should have beat Lindberg
Sikorsky S-35: The plane that should have beat Lindberg
A captain of the Air Service Reserve, Homer M. Berry, decided he would take a crack at the Ortiz prize, and he organized a company for that purpose, Argonauts, Inc., with the help of New Hampshire paper magnate Robert Jackson. Berry and Jackson then contracted with the recent émigré Igor Sikorsky to build a plane that could make the trans-Atlantic flight. Igor Sikorsky had just fled the Russian Revolution and, with the help of some illustrious refugees (like Sergei Rachmaninoff), was establishing an aircraft manufacturing business on American soil. By the end of 1925, Sikorsky had constructed for the Argonauts the S-35, a huge biplane with a 101-foot (31m) wingspan and weighing nine tons (8t) when fully fuelled (but without crew and cargo); it was at first powered by two Liberty engines, then by three Gnome-Rhone Jupiter 450-hp engines. Sikorsky built and serviced the plane—now named New York-Paris—at Roosevelt Field on Long Island, New York, and all of New York (it seemed), including the flamboyant mayor, Jimmy Walker came out to watch the plane put through its paces. Berry no doubt thought that he would pilot the plane, but late in 1925 the legendary French ace René Fonck visited the hangar where the S-35 was being built. He made it clear to the Argonauts that he would welcome an invitation to fly the plane, and the Argonauts happily obliged, making Berry the co-pilot. Fonck made all sorts of demands on the design of the plane itself, including insisting that the fifteen-foot (4.5m) cabin be decorated in red satin, gold fittings, and mahogany and leather panelling. All this irked Sikorsky, who was depending on the S-35 to make his reputation, but Fonck, aside from being a hero of the war, had been instrumental in procuring the Jupiter engines. The crew had grown to five, and at the last minute Berry was forced out in favour of a navigator supplied by the U.S. Navy. Finally, after anticipation had risen to a fever pitch, the date for the take-off was set for September 21, 1926, if weather permitted. Thousands of New Yorkers lined the field to witness this historic moment. Fonck led the grand procession to the plane, and all the crew had baggage and gifts loaded onto the plane. Fonck was given a basket of croissants by Orteig, which he cheerfully tossed into the cabin. Sikorsky watched nervously and estimated that the gross weight of the plane was well over fourteen tons (12.5t)—more than ten thousand pounds (4,540kg) over specifications. Later there would be some question whether Sikorsky said anything to Fonck, but at the time it probably would not have mattered. Fonck and the others were completely caught up in the moment. During take-off, a wheel on the undercarriage came loose when the plane passed over a rough service road that crossed the runway. Jacob Islamov, a friend of Sikorsky and the plane's mechanic, was in charge of releasing part of the landing gear once the plane was airborne (to reduce the load). Thinking the entire plane would roll over, Islamov released the landing gear, sending the plane hurtling over the hill at the end of the runway. The crowd watched in horror as the plane disappeared silently over the hill; then a great explosion erupted and shook the ground and lit up the sky. Sikorsky ran the length of the field and found Fonck and another crewman crawling away from the burning wreckage; Islamov and the radio man were trapped inside. Fonck stood dazed, watching the fire and the frantic, but futile, efforts of rescuers. "It is the fortunes of the air," he pronounced, and Sikorsky eyed him poisonously. At the inquest, Fonck was accused by many (including, naturally, Berry) of not being competent to fly so large a plane and of not aborting the take-off when the wheel fell off. Sikorsky was mildly reprimanded for not carrying out the complete regimen of flight tests with full loads (though the problem, it was determined, had not been with the plane, but with the runway and undercarriage), and the navy man, a former aide to Admiral Moffett, vouched for Fonck's abilities. The coroner, possibly bowing to political pressure, exonerated Fonck and ruled the crash "an unfortunate accident." Most amazing of all, perhaps, is that after the inquest Sikorsky and Fonck announced that they would build a new plane and try again the next year.
YouTube | August 27, 2007
