Wright
Brothers
Wilbur and Orville Wright were
photographed by the French aviator Leon Bollée in May 1909.
Their triumphs and travails were
as much consequences of their approach to life as of their
approach to the problems of
flight.
By the first decade of the twentieth century, interest and
work in the field of flight had reached a
fever pitch. As highly
publicized efforts by engineers and scientists to
develop an airplane capable
of carrying a person were underway
in Europe and America, two brothers from
Dayton, Ohio, were quietly,
doggedly, and methodically
teaching themselves everything there was to
know about flying, and
inventing all the rest as the need arose. What
exactly drove the Wright
brothers to embark on the odyssey
that led them to Kitty Hawk is not at all clear,
and even definitive
biographies like Tom Crouch’s The
Bishop’s Boys have trouble penetrating those two
inscrutable minds. And that’s just the way they would
have wanted it.
This 1900
glider, in a wind from the left, was moored by a wire below
and raised or lowered by a wire (not visible in the photo)
that pulled the forward elevator up or down.
Wilbur was born
in 1867, and Orville four years
later the third and sixth of seven
children born to Milton and Susan
Koerner Wright. Milton was a
minister in the United Brethren
Church, an evangelical Protestant
denomination, and the family moved frequently until
Milton was named a bishop in the church
and the family settled in
Dayton, Ohio. In childhood and throughout
their lives, Orville and Wilbur
were constant companions (in
‘Wilbur's words, the brothers “lived together, played
together; worked together, and, in fact, thought together”)
and displayed many of the Yankee characteristics of their
parents and forebears: an inner-directed Spartan strength
and a clear-eyed, determined outlook on the world and on
life. Neither brother finished high school. though they were
both insatiable readers and tinkerers. The Wright brothers
tried their hand at several enterprises, including
publishing newspapers and running a printing shop, hut
without success.
Wilbur's drawings of the 1899 Kite, the
Wright brothers' first aeronautical experiment
In 1892, America was in the midst of a bicycle craze and the
brothers established a bicycle shop in Dayton that proved
financially successful. They manufactured some bicycles
under their own brand name, including one they called the
Flyer. During 1896, the Wrights read about the death of Otto
Lilienthal and they became intensely interested in the
question of flight. They collected all existing information
on flight, writing to Octave Chanute and Samuel Langley at
the Smithsonian, beginning an active correspondence with
these men that was to last for years. Chanute (who regarded
himself as a kind of international clearinghouse of
information about flight) was particularly generous.
The Wrights designed a glider, strongly influenced by
Chanute’s design, and decided that their aircraft would not
be as difficult to fly as Lilienthal’s glider, but neither
were they going to be passive passengers on a an inherently
stable aircraft. They devised a method to control an
aircraft in flight that involved twisting a Chanute design
in a technique called “wing warping.”
With a pilot (in this case,
Oiville) warping the wing, the glider banked as expected,
but would “slip” to the side and
invariably crash sideways into the sand.
There are many
stories about how the Wrights came upon wing warping, but
the fact is that the technique was not new, and at least one
American experimenter, E. F. Gallaudet, made use of it in
kite tests near New Haven, Connecticut, in 1898. With their
customary thoroughness, the Wrights also wrote to the U.S.
Weather Bureau to find out the best place to test aircraft.
On the basis of that information, they selected the Kill
Devil Hills sand dunes outside Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, a
fishing village on the Outer Banks, a thin peninsula that
jutted out into the Atlantic and enjoyed strong and
relatively constant winds.
In 1899, they tested a scale model of a glider in Dayton,
and by the late summer of 1901 they were ready to test-fly
their first full-size glider at Kitty Hawk. The trips to
Kitty Hawk were arduous; a great deal of material had to be
brought along, some in pieces that would be reassembled on
site. The conditions were difficult and the pair’s resolve
and fortitude were tested to the limit by heat, mosquitoes,
storms, cold gale-force winds, and isolation.
The solution was to
place a double rudder in the rear so the glider would “bite”
the wind when it banked into a turn, as it does here as
Wilbur banks the glider in the 1902 tests. The pilot is
still lying down in order to cut down wind resistance
(“drag”).
The locals
liked the Wrights and the Wrights liked them, but the
brothers’ natural reticence caused some people to regard
them as secretive—some believed that was why Kitty Hawk was
chosen as a test site in the first place. But at this stage,
the Wrights were not at all hesitant to share their findings
with fellow researchers. In fact, in the midst of their
experiments, Wilbur accepted an invitation from Chanute to
report on his and his brother’s experiments at a meeting of
the Western Society of Engineers in Chicago, and many of the
people Chanute kept bringing to Kitty Hawk to assist them
were, the Wrights well knew, doing research of their own.
The craft “flew” (it actually glided) well enough, but with
thirty percent less lift than the Wrights had calculated.
They returned to Dayton and built a larger craft with a
front horizontal rudder (called a “canard”), and returned to
Kitty Hawk in July 1901 to test it. The performance was
improved and the control bugs were worked out, but the
Wrights were perplexed about why their calculations were
still off. Their response to this was unique and would he
reason enough to regard the Wrights as the first to fly.
They constructed a wind tunnel in the rear of their bicycle
shop and conducted precise tests of different wing sections.
The tunnel was only six feet long by sixteen inches square,
with a glass window in the top panel to allow observation. A
steady fan driven by a small gas engine blew air through the
box at a steady twenty-seven miles per hour ), and inside,
balance and spring scales measured lift and pressure on a
variety of airfoils. In these experiments, the Wrights
raised aviation experimentation to the level of serious
engineering (and were thus more firmly in the tradition of
Cayley and Langley than anyone else had been for over a
century).
These tests were made in November and December 1 901; they
collectively represent one of the most important phases in
the early history of flight. The Wrights discovered that
much of the published data on airfoils was incorrect or had
ignored important elements of an airfoil in flight. They
arrived at a clear idea of how the centre of pressure moves
about an airfoil in relation to the angle of attack and as a
function of the camber. And they knew what the control
surfaces would need to be able to do if the flight was to be
controlled by the pilot. After testing two hundred different
wing surfaces, the brothers used their newly gained
information to design Glider Number 3. It was equipped with
a forward elevator wing and a rear fixed double fin that was
later made adjustable, with its controls connected to the
wing-warping controls for the main biplane wing section.
They returned
to Kitty Hawk in September and tested their new machine in
more than one thousand glides. It not only performed well,
it performed as predicted. It was only now that the Wrights
felt they were on the verge of succeeding in creating a
powered airplane. They filed for a patent in March 1903, and
turned their attention to the last hurdle: turning their
glider into a flier.
The decade from the December 1903 flight of the Flyer at
Kitty Hawk to the outbreak of World
War 1 in August
1914 was an extraordinarily busy one in the
development of aviation. Looking
at the aircraft being built in
1913 and comparing them to those
built in 1904, it is difficult to
believe that only a decade had
passed. Airplanes like Louis
Bechereau’s Deperdussin Racer and
Geoffrey de Havilland’s B.S.1,
both produced in 1913, were built with
enclosed, metal fuselages
that used “monocoque” design:
instead of just the frame, the entire fuselage supported the
plane’s load. These planes are recognizable early
versions of planes produced thirty
and forty years later, while the
spindly frames of the Wrights’ airplanes and the
early flying machines were by that
time only relics.
The Wright
brothers had clearly uncorked a torrent of industry
and creativity that had simply
been waiting for some indication that the prospect of flight
was not hopeless.
But if the Wrights were the spark that ignited the
enterprise, there were other forces at
work that drove it to a
fever pitch. One was the giddy optimism that characterized
the opening of the new century.
True, the twentieth century’s ambivalence about technology
was born in its very
first decade, but in the face of the many advances
from 1900 to 1914, it really began to look as if
technology could and would make just about anything
possible.
The Wrights played
a large part in the forming of
this attitude: the remoteness of
their experiments gave fuel to the
claims made by such prestigious
publications as The New York Times
and Scientific American that their
flights were a hoax. One can
imagine these publications being
much more careful afterward in
their scepticism about any
scientific and technological claims.
Yet, there was the equally powerful sense
that a war was coming, and
that one result of the
industrialization of Europe would
be an improved ability to conduct
armed conflict. What role aviation
would play in the theatre of war was not clear even to the
most visionary planner but
there was no doubt that aircraft (both heavier
and lighter than air) would be exploited by
combatants to the fullest
and that command of the sky could possibly
be a decisive factor in any
war. Military strategists who
prepared for possible invasions across natural barriers
such as the English Channel
or the Alpine mountains had to
rethink their defences in the light of aerial
warfare of unknown
effectiveness.
Behind all the
hoopla of the races, the feats,
the records, the stunts, the
glamour and derring-do—all the
romance of early aviation—were calculating minds
fully aware (or aware enough to take
anxious notice) of the military potential of flight.
In the decade between Kitty
Hawk and the outbreak of World War
I, one can summarize the history of
aviation very simply: while the Wrights and Curtiss
were slugging each other senseless
in court, the Europeans
slowly took the lead in aviation. The Wrights won
many of their court battles, but
lost the war for supremacy in
the air.
They enjoyed two
crowning moments in the decade
following Kitty Hawk: their exhibition in France
and their test for the Army at Ft. Myer. But they
allowed many opportunities
to slip by: while Curtiss was winning
prizes for aviation feats he was
performing years after the
Wrights had passed that level of technology, the brothers
were too proud or secretive
to claim any prize; while Curtiss
was winning races that the Wrights could
have won handily, the
brothers would not consent to enter any
contests; while Curtiss was
gaining fame participating in
aerial exhibitions and air shows, the Wrights regarded
them as circuses unworthy
of their talents; while Curtiss was
forming productive and useful alliances with a wide range of
people—from Bell and the Smithsonian to August Herring,
Octave Chanute’s old assistant to Henry Ford and his
high-priced patent lawyers—the Wrights steadfastly rebuffed
any offer of collegiality (including from Curtiss) and
preferred to go it alone; while Curtiss developed new
technology as quickly as it became available—he abandoned
wing warping when it became clear ailerons were a superior
means of lateral control; he developed wheeled
undercarriages when they were shown to be preferable to
skids; and he experimented with different engines and
configurations
Wright wind tunnel
The Wrights
never strayed far from the basic design configuration they
inherited from Chanute; and while Curtiss developed the
entire field of naval aviation, developing seaplanes that
could consider attempting to cross the Atlantic Ocean, the
Wrights entered the field belatedly and half-heartedly.
But for a
moment, the Wrights were alone at the pinnacle of the
mountain, and their country and the world paid them homage.
Wilbur died of typhoid fever in 1912, but Orville lived
until 1947. Orville was honoured late in his life for the
contribution he and his brother had made to flight, but he
certainly must have wondered what might have been had Wilbur
lived. Publicly he blamed Curtiss and the Smithsonian for
everything (even Wilbur’s death), but Curtiss retired from
active involvement in aviation in 1921 and turned to real
estate speculation in Florida until his death after an
appendectomy in 1930. So it was hardly the case that it was
all Curtiss’ fault. Typically, Orville never voiced any
regrets for letting the dominion of flight slip through his
fingers. Still, one wonders.
Kill Devil Hill, December 17, 1903
After the Wright brothers’ successful glides in the summer
of 1902, it was time to add an engine and propellers to the
machine. Typically, however, the Wrights did not simply add
a power plant to their glider; they redesigned the entire
machine and integrated the propulsion system in a
technically well-designed machine. The added weight of an
engine meant they could increase the camber (which would
result in the centre of pressure behaving about the same as
it did for the glider), and enlarge the wing to a forty-foot
wingspan and a surface area of 510 square feet for the two
wings combined.
The machine—which they called the Flyer I (only later was
its name changed to the Kitty Hawk)—retained the glider’s
front canard-design elevator and the movable rear rudder.
The plan was to place the engine on the lower wing, next to
the pilot who would, as was the case with the gliders, lie
prone on the lower wing. The propellers would be “pusher”
(meaning, pushing the machine from behind the wing, as
opposed to “tractor,” which means pulling the machine in
front of the wing) and would turn in counter-directions. As
they had done with the wings, the Wrights had tested and
perfected the propellers in their wind tunnel and greatly
improved their efficiency. Unlike the gliders, the Flyer
could not be launched by leaping from a dune or by running
down a hill; it would then be only a powered glide and not a
real flight. They designed a launch mechanism that consisted
of a single track on which ran a simple flat car that the
aircraft was placed upon.
The car would be propelled by the aircraft’s propellers, and
when take-off speed was attained, the airplane would simply
lift off. The Wrights calculated that they would need sixty
feet of track (and that is what they brought). The Wrights
had put off the question of the engine, hoping that the
strides being made in the automotive industry would produce
a light and powerful engine they could use. But no such
engine was forthcoming and finally they attacked the problem
head-on and designed their own engine with the help of their
machinist, Charles Taylor. The engine just barely met their
specifications, but they decided not to postpone testing it.
They did not arrive at Kitty Hawk that year until September
26 and were not ready to test their machine until winter
was already setting in.
It was too cold even for Chanute, who had waited patiently
as long as he could. After many delays and repairs, on
December 14 the Flyer seemed ready. The brothers, aware that
they were about to make history, tossed a coin to see who
would have the honour of the first flight. Wilbur won. On
the first attempt, however, the elevator was set low and the
craft ploughed into the sand at the end of the track,
damaging the aircraft. After three days of frantic repairs
and threatening weather, the Wrights were ready for a second
try. They raised a flag signalling the crew of the
lifesaving station that they were ready, and when a small
group arrived, Orville took his turn on the lower wing. At
10:35 A.M. on December 17, before several witnesses from the
weather station, the Flyer took off into a
twenty-one-mile-per-hour (34kph) wind. Wilbur ran alongside
the aircraft, keeping the right wing from dragging in the
sand but being careful not to assist the plane down the
track; they wanted this to be an unassisted take-off.
Sensing that they would be successful on this day, they had
set up their cumbersome glass-plate camera and aimed it at
the end of the track. They instructed one of the witnesses,
John T. Daniels, to snap the shutter as the plane left the
end of the track. Daniels took one of the most famous
photographs in the history of aviation, possibly in the
history of all of technology. It shows the Flyer lifting off
with Orville aboard, and Wilbur off to the side having just
run down the track alongside. The Flyer flew for twelve
seconds and landed in the sand 120 feet away.
Wilbur is seen here aboard the Flyer (now outfitted with
motor and propellers) as it dips and runs aground on takeoff
during its first
test on December 14, 1903. The damaged elevator required
three days to repair.
The brothers quickly placed the
Flyer on the launching car for another
flight. This time Wilbur
piloted the craft and it flew
almost two hundred feet before
landing gently in the sand. In
all, they conducted four
flights, alternating as pilots, with the
best flight the fourth: 852 feet in fifty-nine
seconds. After the fourth
flight, a gust of wind overturned the
aircraft and damaged it beyond
quick repair. The brothers
knew they would be returning to
Dayton. They ate a leisurely
lunch, then went into Kitty
Hawk, called a few friends to report on their
success, and sent a telegram to
their father: “Success four flights
Thursday morning all against twenty
one mile wind started from Level with engine power alone
average speed through air thirty one miles longest 57
seconds inform Press home Christmas. (signed) Orville.”
Contrary to legend, the reaction of the press to the
historic flight was not a deafening silence. The Dayton
Evening Herald reported the flight the next day on the front
page, and the Virginian-Pilot was careful to point out in a
sub-headline that no balloon had been attached to the
aircraft. Garbled accounts appeared on the front page of the
New York Herald, but there was little follow-up and many of
the sporadic reports that appeared during the first two
years after Kitty Hawk ridiculed the Wrights’ claim by
adding facetious exaggerations to the account. The first
full, serious, and accurate account of the Wrights in flight
appeared in the January 1, 1905, issue of Gleanings in Bee
Culture, an apiary journal, written by the publisher, Amos
I. Root. But the Wrights were not people to waste time. On
their return to Dayton, they immediately set to work on the
Flyer 2. incorporating all that they had learned in the
Carolina dunes. It looked like the first machine, but had a
smaller wing surface and a gentler camber. Most importantly,
it had a more powerful engine.
The brothers rented a ninety-acre (36ha) farm outside of
Dayton that became known as “Huffman Prairie” (after the
owner) and tested their new machine there. On September 20,
1904, Wilbur flew the Flyer 2 in a complete circle and
returned to his starting point and landed. This was the
flight Root witnessed and described, and in the minds of
some aviation historians, this flight and the others
conducted at Huffman (and not the four Kitty Hawk flights)
deserve to be considered the beginning of the age of flight.
(Others point out, however, that these take-offs were not
unassisted: to compensate for the lighter winds, the Wrights
launched their aircraft at Huffman with a weight-and-derrick
launcher.) The best flight of the season, four circles of
the field, lasted over five minutes.
In the summer of 1905, the Wrights tested an even more
improved machine, Flyer 3, as always, in full view of
onlookers and inviting the press to important tests, which
they rarely attended. The aircraft had an even smaller wing
surface but the same camber as the 1903 machine. This time
the machine flew beautifully, and many of the more than
forty flights conducted were limited only by the amount of
fuel the aircraft could carry. The plane could take off and
land with minimal adjustment, and the elevator and rear
rudder, pushed out farther from the wings, gave the pilot
almost complete control of the aircraft in flight. The
longest flight of that summer was over a half hour, and the
aircraft could circle and fly figure eights easily. This
aircraft, the Flyer 3, is often referred to as the first
practical aircraft in history.
In 1905, the brothers sensed trouble when their patent
application of two years earlier was delayed. The U.S. War
Department was unenthusiastic about their proposal to build
airplanes for the Signal Corps, and they kept hearing
rumours that competitors were copying their designs. The
patent (for wing warping) was granted eventually in 1906,
and the U.S. government eventually came around, but the
challenge from rivals—one in particular: Glenn
Curtiss—proved to be one hurdle too many.
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