Viewing page 12 of 179
This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.
[[handwritten]] Huron Morning Herald October 1912, South Dakota [[//handwritten]] [[newspaper clipping]] STUDENSKY TELLS OF LIFE IN THE CLOUDS [[line]] DIMINUTIVE AVIATOR RECOUNTS FLYING EXPERIENCES. [[line]] Says Aviation Has Not Reached the Perfection in This Country that It Has Abroad. [[line]] Diminutive Paul Studensky, aviator, was in his canvas-covered hangar, watching his mechanics prepare the big aircraft for a flight when I found him. When I told him I was a reporter for the Morning Herald, he smiled pleasantly, disclosing an even row of white teeth beneath his little mustache, led me to the tool box, apologized for the lack of chairs, invited me to a seat and inquired what he could do for me. "How long have you been flying," I asked him. "Two years,' 'he answered reflectively. I learned at the Bleirot school in France two years ago this summer. I have been flying in the United States for the past year. I marvelled at his flawless English grammar, his well chosen words and clear pronunciation, perfect, save for a very slight foreign accent. It was apparent that this fearless little flyer was no brainless daredevil. He was clearly a man of education; he must have been through the "grammar grind" in several languages, I concluded, to speak English so perfectly on so short acquaintance. "Yes, I am a graduate of the University of Warsaw, and I studied at the Sarbonne in Paris for a year." "You speak several languages?" I queried. "Five. "You see," he explained, "I was born in what formerly was Poland. It is now on the border between Germany and Russia, under the Russian flag, of course. There, everybody of education speaks Russian, German and Polish. French, I learned in Paris, and I read English there too, intending at that time to go on a hunting trip in Australia, but I could not speak it until I came to the United States. "Australia," I thought. "This man has evidently traveled extensively. "Have you traveled much?" I asked him. "Oh yes, I have been pretty much over the world. I have been up in the Polar regions, walked over a large part of Europe, hunted in Australia, and flown in the States in many places. I went up in the mountains in Colorado, flew in Massachusetts and carried the mail down in Galveston." "A sort of citizen of the world," I suggested. "Yes," he agreed, 'but I love Russia most." And then I saw the gleam of the patriot in his eye. "I have many friends in this country and enjoy it immensely, but aviation in this nation is not so highly perfected as abroad. Your commercial spirit has stifled scientific advance. There are too many half-baked aviators here - men who have no experience and no license, and who make an exhibition contract before they have ever taken to the air." Since monetary considerations had been broached, I felt I should push the subject farther. "Is aviation a highly paid profession?" "Not nearly as remunerative as the public thinks. Very few flyers today are solely on a salary basis. They share the business risk with the management. The expenses are tremendous. We require many mechanics and helpers, and then there are the accidents. The machines cost about $5,000, and an accident may completely demolish one. "Have you ever fallen?" "Yes, many times, but I believe in careful flying. I am much interested in the recently organized association of flyers for the purpose of making the air more safe. It is a funny thing that there has not been more scientific research into air currents. From the ground you have no idea how powerful they are. Now take today. It feels calm, but during my first flight I struck a current and my machine literally dropped at least five feet" "But accidents," I insisted. "Well, one of the most peculiar accidents I ever had was about 600 feet above Chicago. My steering wheel broke completely off. I had to throw it away and steer down by shifting my weight. As a result of that accident, they now make the bolt in the wheel longer and stronger. Most accidents happen at the start of the flight, or else close to the ground. The higher you are the safer you are. You don't fall from 3,000 feet; you glide down. But from fifty feet you must fall. "Are you superstitious?" I asked him. "Not a bit. I was born on the thirteenth day of the month, and my license was issued on the thirteenth. I always carry a doll up with me and some people have accused me of being superstitious, but it is not true. I get lonesome way up in the air alone. "Day after tomorrow is Friday, the thirteenth, I suggested. But Mr. Studensky only smiled his careless, whimsical little smile. "Does the danger of your work er unnerve you?" I persisted. "No, my life in Russia was of a more dangerous nature that even that of an aviator," and his square jaw set hard and I pictured him to myself performing foreign missions or sitting at a Nihilist table plotting to make his Russia a greater and a freer Russia. I recalled his simple "I love Russia most." By this time his biplane had been wheeled out of the tented hangar, we arose. "A monoplane is much safer than a biplane," he said. "The engine is in front of you and not nearly so likely to fall on you if an accident occurs. He buttoned his leather reefer and without either gloves or goggles, perched himself behind the wheel. The mechanicians twisted the big wooden propeller. Then he turned to me smiling, "will you come along," he invited. I looked at the delicate birdlike structure and then at Tournier, the Frenchman, already in the air. "No, thank you," I responded. He extended his hand. "Well, goodbye I will be back soon." The mechanicians released the propeller. It roared like a gale in the rigging of a ship. The big craft tore across the prairie, rose gracefully and versatile, gentlemanly little Russian with his five feet of height, was whirled up into the air. [[line]]
