Southern California, which has "climate without weather" has always offered a friendly environment for new ideas, especially when they are best practiced out of doors -- moving pictures, new age religions, beach bumming, and, of course, flying. I was too young to witness the first big event, the Dominguez Mesa aviation meet in 1911, but my father was there and saw the Baldwin dirigible and watched and waited while Lincoln Beachey flew in a Wright all the way to Pasadena, around the Hotel, and returned safely. I didn't get into the picture until the summer of 1916, just before my eighth birthday.

The area in Los Angeles now known as Baldwin Hills, was then the Baldwin Ranch, where Lucky Baldwin (the founder of Santa Anita Race Track) raised cattle, hay, and beans. He also rented a piece of land, probably five or so acres, just west of what is now the inter-section of Western Boulevard and West 52nd Street, to a group of young men who had (mirable dictu) several "flying machines." I can remember the Wright biplane, a Bleriot monoplane, and several which I could not identify then and certainly cannot now. The only one which I can remember seeing in the air was the Wright.

We were living on 52nd Street at the time and on Saturday and Sunday afternoons we would often walk up to watch the show. On one occasion the boys were circling around in the Wright, getting all of fifty feet above the ground. One of them finished his turn and when he landed we walked over to the plane. The man asked my father if he would like a ride.

It took my father until 1922 to decide that the automobile was here to stay, and he was not about to go up in a motorized kite. My mother was another story. She wore a divided skirt when she rode on my Uncle Monte's Indian motorcycle, and she took off her stockings when she went in the surf. Nothing was too new or too good for her. She'd go, and she did.

When her flight (ten-minute?) was finished and she was being helped off the plane the pilot said, "Would the children like a ride?" I thought my father would have a stroke, but he was the only dissenter, and off we went!

I sat in a rather rudimentary bucket seat on the wing with my sister, Virginia, then about five, between my legs with the strap around both of us. The engine was to the left and some-what behind us, and the pilot of course sat on the left. We flew for about ten minutes, close to the ground, but when we'd cross one of the gullies that cut into the mesa we must have been all of fifty feet in the air. Needless to say we loved it, and I can't remember either of us having the slightest fear.

I particularly remember the engine (I've always been interested in that sort of thing, and have had a good bit of first-hand experience and some formal study with them). As I recall, not only from the event of the flight but from many other observations of it, it had six cylinders, not en block, but also separately cast with domed integral heads. It had a lot of brass fittings which I later learned were priming cups, cooling water manifolds, and the like. It was noisy. I don't think that it had a muffler, and the two big airscrews which were driven by bicycle chains added to the tumult. What a great day! I'll never forget it.

MORE:

There's another somewhat related yarn, which I might as well throw in at this point. I had no part in it, but I knew the man who did and I heard the tale many times. Our neighbors and long-time family friends, the Watsons, lived much closer to the airfield, right over the fence, in fact. On our trips to watch the flying we'd stop at their house and we'd all go over to the field together. The Watsons were Scots and they had staying with them two nephews who were sampling life in the States. These lads, who were cousins, were both named Jim Adamson, and were called "Big Jim" and "Little Jim." When the fighting in the first World War began to get serious the boys went home and entered the services, Big Jim signing up for the RAF.

He was trained as an observer pilot and, of course, sent to France. On one occasion his squadron was ordered to make a reconnaissance in force over the German lines. So "Big Jim" and his observer took off (probably in a Sopwith Camel) and loufberried around a couple of hundred feet above the ground while the other planes took off and the formation was pulled together. While he was doing this Jim fired a few rounds on the Lewis gun that was mounted above the wing so that it could fire over the prop. It jammed. Jim wiggled the stick for the observer to take over the flying, unfastened his belt and stood up on his seat to tinker with the gun. Somehow the plane rolled and Jim went overboard. He fell through some trees and under brush and got up and started to walk back to the field, meeting on the way the ambulance crew, which had been sent out to look for his remains. This story has always made it easy for me to understand why the Scots are the rugged and independent outfit that they have always been.

They kept Jim in an hospital for a couple of weeks treating some cuts and bruises while he had nightmares about what had happened. He always said that the nightmares were worse than the event itself. It can't have been all-bad, because he later married one of his nurses.

He survived the rest of the war, returning safely to Scotland where he lived In Glasgow for the rest of his life. He lived through, but did not serve in the second World War and died about thirty years ago like most men of high adventure quietly in bed.

There's a little more. My father saved everything of interest that ever came to hand. I can remember seeing among his papers a copy of the program for the Dominguez Mesa air meet. I think my brother in Santa Barbara may have it. If I can find it I'll send it to you.

– Cecil Dunn

Mitch says: Cecil Dunn is a family friend. Recently while visiting him in Billings, MT the conversation got around to airplanes (what else). Cecil says, "I'll bet you don't know anyone who has flown in a Wright flyer". Didn't take long to figure out that I didn't! After hearing the story I thought it should be shared with our BowWow audience.

Some background about the writer of this story. Cecil graduated from USC and earned his Ph.D. in economics. Cecil is a renowned authority on the production of natural gas. He has served on the Board of Directors of many major international companies during his working years. Today he is a very active 90 yr. old.