Seven .
. . six . . . five . . . four . . . the numbers sound like a
doomsday atomic countdown. Suddenly, the pilot brings the
big aircraft up into a climb and over on its back. Then down
again, into a graceful loop that ends 15 feet over the
runway with the spectators about to panic from their seats.
Now the
crowd is nearly out of its mind. Tex Rankin, one of the
greatest stunt pilots of all time, turns to the man next to
him and shakes his head in disbelief. "You'd never catch me
doing that with that much airplane." Then he turns back,
eyes glued on the Ford Tri-Motor as Harold Johnson flying
solo, climbs for altitude to perform his most impossible
manoeuvre of the show. All that has gone before, has been
merely to whet the appetite and provide a few candidates for
coronaries.
Typical wing-skidding landing during practice session at
Daytona Beach, Florida
At 400 feet,
Captain Johnson levels off then pulls the nose up sharply,
until the big tri-motor shudders into a hammerhead stall.
Over the top she goes and into a giant, arching spin toward
oblivion, her engines popping softly, the wind screaming
along her corrugated surfaces. At 400 feet there is only
room enough for a little over one turn. The Ford rolls out
at a very steep angle, and as Johnson seemingly recovers
from the spin and dives out of sight behind the bordering
trees, the people are frantic. They are certain that he has
crashed . . . but where is the explosion?
Famous for his low altitude pull-outs, Johnson eases the big
bird out of a loop at a delicate altitude while a Waco waits
to see what comes of it.
Safe on the
ground, Harold Johnson smiled. Always a showman, pleasing
the crowd was his foremost concern. If in the process, he
also petrified them, it was a minor by-product.
Captain Johnson's first aircraft, a WACO, in front of his
dealership hanger in 1930
After
pulling up from behind the trees still out of sight he had
wheeled the great silver ship around for a smooth one-wheel
landing, touching the tip of the wing on the dirt strip and
raising clouds of dust. So went Harold S. Johnson's life for
ten years - from 1932 to 1942. During that time, he became
known to millions as the "King of the Fords", and no crown
was ever worn more deservedly.
Today,
Harold Johnson recalls every detail of those fantastic
flying years as if they had happened last week. Born in
Chicago, Illinois in 1910, his first solo flight was made in
1929. The ship was a Waco and not long after soloing, Harold
formed the Aerial Transit Company and became a dealer for
the Waco Airplane Co. Still, he wanted to travel and decided
that a dealership was just too pedestrian for him. As a
result, he launched himself into the barnstorming business,
but with one important reservation. He knew that if he went
into an already overcrowded occupation, he had better come
up with something different . . . enter the Ford Tri-motor.
This was a
real first. It had never been done, much less attempted.
Stunting the big bird for air shows would really knock their
eyes out. So in 1932, Harold purchased a 4-AT Ford and set
about learning how to wring it out. Rolling a six ton,
multi-engine airplane was a job that required more than
guts, which Johnson had plenty of. It also demanded new
skills, new insights and new muscle coordination, as well as
brawn.
Harold
formed National Air Shows and with the Ford and other birds,
started zooming and looping over the towns and cities of the
East and Middle West. He soon discovered that wingtip
scraping cost him a new tip every six months, and other
maintenance problems so plagued the fledgling company that
Johnson was forced to establish a certified CAA repair
station on a Ford truckbed that followed the show.
Rare photograph shows Johnson being congratulated by Henry
Ford after putting on his typically daredevil demonstration
at the Ford plant in Dearborn, Michigan, during the early
thirties
Agility of the venerable Ford is demonstrated by inverted
flight
For the next
seven years Johnson, sponsored by SOHIO Oil, starred at the
National Air Races, stunting his Ford before thousands. And
in 1931, he placed 2nd in the Bendix Cross Country, flying a
Lockheed Orion. However, since he wanted a swift,
manoeuvrable biplane to work in the shows and no factory
built craft suited his fancy, he built his own.
Looping takeoff by Johnson in his Continental Special, then
in modified version. Johnson built this NR 10537, in
original version
In 1937, he
rolled out his Continental Special NR-10537. In this nimble,
Continental powered biplane, he would aileron roll straight
for the ground, fly upside down and generally warm up the
crowd for the main event. Then he would land, taxi up to the
Ford, hop out of one plane and continue the show in the
other. He never let the people relax. His usual procedure
would be a loop on take off, just to get everyone's
attention and, at times, Johnson would shut off one engine
and do his routine on two mills only.
Johnson
liked the Ford and the Ford liked Harold. Once, when he came
through Dearborn, Michigan, old Henry himself came out to
see him perform and went away amazed at his skill. The
crusty old gentlemen considered Harold "a most talented and
daring young man."
Looping the
Ford was Johnson's favourite manoeuvre and on one sortie
before a crowd of 15,000, he made 17 graceful loops,
breaking his own world record of 16. One of the more
interesting brain-storms Harold devised, was to mount the
Continental Special atop the Ford, so that both aircraft
could be flown to various air shows by one pilot. Somehow,
this project was put aside and never reached completion,
although the feat was accomplished later both by Great
Britain and Germany.
Pearl
Harbour brought the National Air Races to an end. Harold
sold the Ford and started ferrying Hudsons across the stormy
Atlantic to England The loss rate on those wartime delivery
routes was nearly 50 percent then, and the missions were
hairy, most of them bedeviled by malfunctions of major
proportions. After a year of this incredible type flying,
Johnson took on the less hazardous job of testing B-24's for
Ford's Willow Run plant. These fat birds were a far cry from
the kind of ship he liked to fly and he soon transferred to
sunny California and Lockheed.
In 1944, he
checked out in P-38s and began testing planes for delivery
to the combat zones. It was interesting and demanding work,
with his day filled by 7 plus G pullouts. Johnson also
tested the 1049 Constellation and found, to his delight,
that the rate of roll was better than the P-38's . . . but
there were more surprises in store.
At the close
of hostilities, the P2V was a brand new idea at Lockheed and
there was a rush on to complete tests to prove to the Navy
that the P2V was the bird they wanted for anti-submarine
patrolling. On a great flying day over Burbank, Johnson was
letting down the X model prototype, when the bomb door came
loose, wrapped itself around the tail, smashed the rudder
and ripped three fourths of the vertical fin off the
aircraft. Johnson fought for control of the big ship, and
heading out over the desert, saved the plane and the P2V
program by landing the aircraft at Edwards AFB. Thanks in
part to Harold Johnson's superb skill and piloting ability,
the P2V is now the standard anti-submarine patrol bomber for
the free world.
During the war, Johnson was test pilot on B-24's at Ford's
Willow Run plant, flew P-38's for Lockheed and ferried
Hudsons to England.
The hectic
years were now coming to a close. With hostilities over in
the Pacific and military planes no longer being built in
quantity, test pilots went looking for other areas in which
to apply their specialized talents. The King of the Ford
became a Beechcraft distributor in the east, but he had
found a home in California and was back a few years later to
open a shop at Van Nuys Airport. Nevertheless, neither he
nor the tin goose could stay separated for long. There was
another Ford in his future . . . G.E. Moxon's Ford 5-AT at
Santa Monica Airport . . . where Johnson now works daily to
restore it. And who knows, maybe a new generation of
aviation buffs will see Captain Harold Johnson fly the six
ton airliner through a loop or roll? At any rate, a Classic
Airman and a Classic Airplane are back together again.