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THE FLYING REPORTER

LEWIS E. THEISS

Copyrighted, 1930, Wilcox & Follett Co. All rights reserved

The Flying Reporter Made in United States of America

FOREWORD

Some of these news planes are elaborately equipped for their work, with desks and typewriters for reporters, darkrooms and developing equipment for photographers, and special equipment for the taking of aerial photographs. Some of these planes ordinarily carry as many as four men--a pilot, a mechanic, a camera man, and a reporter. Thus they are equipped for almost any emergency.

It would be easy enough to "invent" adventures for news fliers, but it would be foolish to do so for the reason that few "made-up" stories could equal in interest the actual experiences of flying reporters. Consequently, practically all the material in this book is based upon actual occurrences.

The bit of Warren Long's parachute that Jimmy Donnelly prized so highly is merely the counterpart of a piece of the parachute of that fine young pilot, the late Thomas Nelson. It is from the parachute he had when he stepped out of a burning mail plane at Ringtown, Pa., in the fall of 1929. This keepsake was given to me by Dr. Leigh Breisch, of Lewisburg, Pa., with whose father Pilot Nelson spent several hours after that thrilling leap. His parachute was partly burned, and the bit of silk in my possession is scorched by fire. It is a prized possession, for I knew and greatly admired the dauntless young man who wore it.

The descriptions of the radio beacons are as accurate as the writer can make them. The installation of these beacons marks a great step forward in the development of flying. Radio beacons are being erected as fast as possible along the entire transcontinental airway, and will also be used to guide befogged fliers on other routes.

In the course of this story Jimmy Donnelly awakens a sleeping family whose home was afire, by diving at the house and making as much noise with his plane as possible. On various occasions Air Mail pilots have done exactly this thing. That excellent flier and former Air Mail pilot, Paul Collins, is one of the airmen who performed this trick.

Many of the incidents pictured in the chapter about the New Hampshire flood are actual occurrences.

The fact is that almost everything in this book is based upon an actual occurrence, or was suggested to me by fliers as the result of their experiences. I mention this fact because, although this book is purely a piece of fiction, the purpose of the book is to show the part that fliers play in news coverage. Hence it had to be truthful in essence.

News fliers do the most remarkable things and have the most wonderful adventures. But like most other things connected with the business of collecting news, these adventures are seldom heard of excepting in newspaper or flying circles. If this story makes these achievements more evident to readers, the writer will be gratified.

Lewis Edwin Theiss.

Table of Contents

The Flying Reporter

Jimmy Donnelly Scents a Story in a Scorched Piece of Parachute

But just now Jimmy was not thinking about his plane. The morning mail lay before him on the table in the little hangar office. There were the daily papers, some circulars, and several letters. Jimmy had already slit the letters open. The one he picked out of the bunch was a rather bulky letter that bore, in the upper left hand corner, this return address: Warren Long, Hadley Airport, New Brunswick, N. J. But Jimmy did not need to read this return address to know from whom the letter came. He recognized the handwriting instantly. That was why he selected this letter in preference to any other letter, to read first.

Jimmy wondered why Warren Long had written to him. He opened the envelope eagerly.

Out dropped what looked like a white silk handkerchief. Jimmy was more puzzled than ever. With growing curiosity he pulled the letter from the envelope, spread it out on his desk, and read as follows:

Dear Jimmy:

Last night I had occasion to join the Caterpillar Club. It is odd how a fellow's brain works at such times. As I was on my way to the ground I thought of you. Why I should think of you at such a time I do not know. But I did, and I said to myself, "Jimmy would like a piece of this parachute. He's always collecting souvenirs." So when I got my feet on solid ground once more, I cut a piece of silk out of the 'chute, which was already badly torn by the bushes, and here it is. You may like to add it to your museum.

I suppose you'll read in the daily paper about my losing the mail. I'm all cut up about it. This is the first cargo I ever lost in ten years of flying the mail. I tried to save it, but it was impossible. You see, my plane somehow caught fire. I tried to extinguish the flames; but the fire must have been in the crank-case or somewhere where the extinguisher fluid couldn't touch it. Then I tried to reach the nearest emergency landing field; but my engine went dead. The flames were spreading fast and shooting back into the cockpit in sheets. There was nothing to do but step out. My, how I hated to abandon the mail. But I had no choice. So I disconnected my head phones from the instrument board, picked up my flashlight, and stepped out.

The instant I did so the plane turned on her side and dived straight after me. It was interesting to watch it. I was evidently falling head down, for I could see everything without even turning my eyes. My ship plunged like a rocket stick. She was just one long streak of fire. I thought sure she was going to hit me. I tried to crowd over and get out of the way. You can't imagine what a funny, helpless feeling a fellow has when he can't touch anything with either his hands or his feet. Anyway, the ship just grazed me, but a miss is as good as a mile. The instant she was past I started to pull the rip-cord. I found my flash-light was in my right hand. I had to shift it to my left hand. That didn't take very long, but I was then so near the ground that every second counted. I made the shift and gave the rip-cord a quick jerk. It wasn't a moment too soon, either. While I was floating down the rest of the way to the earth I thought of you.

While I was still in the air, my ship hit with a terrific explosion. It was utterly consumed. Everything about it was burned. Much of the metal was melted by the terrible heat. The place where I came down was nearly half a mile from the spot where the ship landed. There was a thick woods between me and the ship. I could see the glare of the fire plainly, and I hurried right over to the spot. A lad from the neighborhood helped me. Some farmers were already there.

I hope everything is going well with you. The best of luck to you.

Ever your friend, Warren Long.

Jimmie stared at the letter incredulously. For a moment he was silent. Then, "Thank God Warren wasn't hurt!" he cried. "I wonder where it happened. And I wonder where Warren is now. And how in time did he get that letter to me so quickly?"

For a time Jimmy was silent, thinking the matter over. Presently he thought he had solved the problem. "Warren left Hadley with the 9:35 p. m. section of the mail," he muttered. "The fire probably occurred before he had been flying more than an hour or so. He was likely near some town where he could catch a late train, and he probably got back to Hadley early this morning. He must have written this note at once and got it into a mail for New York. It was mighty quick work, no matter how he did it. And it was just like Warren Long. He wanted to tell me about the flash-light and was afraid he would never think to mention it when he saw me. Gee! I am sure glad to have this piece of his 'chute. You bet I'll put it in my 'museum,' as he calls my little collection of aviation keepsakes. Who wouldn't be glad to have a piece of Warren Long's parachute?"

Jimmy picked up the little square of silk and smoothed it lovingly. The fabric was creamy white, beautifully woven, with a lovely sheen. It was thin and delicate and almost gauzy in effect, and one could hardly believe that so delicate a fabric could possibly have withstood the terrific strain imposed upon it when it suddenly opened by Warren Long's two hundred pounds--for with his heavy flying suit and the 'chute pack itself, the pilot must easily have weighed as much as that.

In one corner of the square of silk was a dark, scorched space.

"Gee!" said Jimmy. "That fire was a lot nearer getting Warren Long than he intimated. But that is like him. He would hardly have mentioned it if he had had a leg burned off. If his parachute got scorched like that, he certainly had a close call himself. I know that, all right."

"I wonder what the paper says about the affair," he muttered.

The item he was searching for Jimmy found on the front page, near the bottom of column six. It was a brief story, hardly three inches long, telling how Long's plane had caught fire and how the pilot had jumped from the burning ship, after finding that he could not extinguish the blaze. Jimmy read the story and frowned.

"Some country correspondent who doesn't know a good story when he sees one sent that in," growled Jimmy, indignantly. "Why, it's evident from Warren's letter that he had a most startling experience, with that flaming ship diving straight at him, while he was utterly powerless to help himself. That's great human interest stuff. It ought to be good for half a column any day. And if we had the details, I'll bet there'd be a front page spread in it."

With Jimmy, to think was to act. He reached for the telephone.

A moment later he was talking to the city editor of that paper.

"Mr. Davis," he said, "I have just been reading the story about Warren Long's parachute jump last night. I have had a note from Warren Long, too. It seems that when he stepped out of the burning plane he fell head first, and in that position he watched the plane as he dropped. The ship turned over almost as soon as he stepped out of her and dived straight at him, like a flaming arrow. Warren didn't dare open his 'chute for fear the plane would foul it and he would be killed. So he just kept on falling head first, watching the blazing plane as it tore after him, and hoping the thing would pass him clean and in time. For he wasn't very high up when he jumped. The ship barely missed him as it shot by. The instant it was past, Warren yanked his rip-cord, and it wasn't a moment too soon, either. The 'chute opened and kept him up in the air for a few seconds, while the ship hit the ground with a tremendous explosion. The fire that followed was terrific. Fortunately, the wind blew Warren well to one side. But he must have been burned some before he jumped, for he sent me a bit of his parachute, and the silk is badly scorched."

"Do you know where Warren Long is now?" asked the city editor.

"No, sir. But I suspect he came back to Hadley Airport on a train, and is probably at his home in Plainfield."

"The story we printed is an A. P. despatch," said Mr. Davis. "All the papers will have it. Likely that is all the story any of them will carry. We ought to be able to get a good exclusive follow-up story. I'll send a man over to Hadley to get into touch with Long and get all the details from him. Meantime, I wish you would fly over to Ringtown, where the crash occurred, get all the facts you can there, and take pictures of the burned plane, the spot where the plane crashed, and anything else that will help the story."

"All right, Mr. Davis. I'll be off as soon as I can get my plane warmed up. Be sure to tell the man you send to see Warren Long that I want Warren to give him the whole story. Otherwise he won't talk. But he'll do anything for me. Good-bye. I'm off."

A Flight in Quest of News

Fairly atremble with eagerness, Jimmy ran out into the hangar and made a rapid inspection of his plane, to see that everything was right. He glanced at the wheels, to see that the chocks were in front of them, then scrambled into the cabin and touched the starter. His engine answered with a roar. Jimmy throttled it down until it was idling gently. For a moment he sat listening to it. Then, satisfied, he climbed out of the ship, and set about completing his preparations for the task ahead of him.

Had Jimmy been a little more experienced in newspaper work he would not have been so excited about this simple assignment that Mr. Davis had given him. All he had to do was to fly a hundred miles or so, gather a few facts, take a few pictures, and get back as quickly as possible. But there was no need to hurry, as there would have been had it been late in the day. Nevertheless, Jimmy was all atingle with enthusiasm and eagerness. He could hardly wait to be at his task.

But even though Jimmy was not yet a seasoned reporter, there was one quality he possessed that made up for much that he still lacked. He had a naturally keen news sense. He was gifted with what newspaper men call a "nose for news." He felt the dramatic possibilities in everything he heard and saw. He seemed to sense the facts that should be secured in order to make the most of a story. That was why he at once saw that the tale in the morning paper about Warren Long was faulty, that the correspondent had failed to secure the dramatic elements in the story that would appeal most to people. That was why Jimmy knew there was a real human interest story in this thrilling leap from a burning plane. It was this keen news sense that now made Jimmy so eager to get the facts--the significant facts--that the correspondent had failed to secure. Jimmy wanted to make good. He wanted to help his paper "scoop" all the other newspapers in New York. He believed he could do it. That was why he was all atremble with eagerness. Like a race-horse at the barrier, he was restive and impatient to go.

But though Jimmy was green in the newspaper game, he was well seasoned in the flying business. He had had too much experience to take anything for granted. Hence, while his plane was warming up, Jimmy made sure that he was prepared for any emergency. He saw to it that his flash-light was in its place and in good working order. That was the first thing he thought of. In future it would always be the first thing he thought of. Warren Long's letter had made an indelible impression on his mind. He saw that the plane contained a little case of emergency rations that he habitually carried. He made sure his pistol was in place. That was a piece of equipment most fliers lacked. Mail pilots are compelled to carry pistols, and Jimmy had formed the habit of flying armed, while he was in the mail service. Experience had shown him the wisdom of having a firearm at hand in his ship. He made sure that he had his topographic maps and other articles that he had found to be necessary or desirable. Of course he put his camera aboard, with a plentiful supply of films.

After a final close inspection of the plane, Jimmy put on his 'chute and snapped it fast. Then he climbed into the cabin, glanced at the instruments, held the stick back, and shoved the throttle forward. No longer was there the staccato of exploding gases, but instead a thundering roar. Jimmy kept her wide open while he noted the maximum number of revolutions his propeller was making, his oil temperature and oil pressure. Then he switched from one "mag" to the other, but noticed no difference in "revs." Gradually Jimmy throttled her down to a murmur. She was perfect!

An attendant came forward and pointed to the chocks. Jimmy nodded "O. K." As the attendant pulled the chocks from the wheels, Jimmy glanced at the wind-sock on his hangar. Then he taxied slowly down the field. He headed into the wind and gave her full gun. The ship accelerated rapidly. With a thundering roar the ship took off gracefully, guided by an experienced hand and brain. Jimmy was off on his assignment.

He cut over to the very edge of Long Island and followed the southern shore-line. Over the Bay and across the southern end of Staten Island he winged his way, heading south of west, to pick up the route of the Air Mail. Long before he crossed the Delaware, near Easton, he was right on the line. How much like old times it seemed, to be flying over the beacon lights. To be sure, they were not flashing now, in the morning light, but he knew where the towers were and he saw each one as he flew over it, where it stood like a friendly sentinel, to point out the path.

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