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Times Herald: Washington, D.C.: Jany. 17, 1950

Early Birdmen—A Vision of Victory in the Air

Fresh from flying instruction given them by Orville and Wilbur Wright, two of the Army's first regular pilots pose with the rickety contraption which was a source of constant amazement to earth-bound citizens. Left to right, Hap Arnold, who died Sunday, and Thomas De Witt Milling. At the time of this picture both were lieutenants. 

Arnold's Pioneer Buddy Tells of Near-Fatal Flight

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[[caption]] GEN. T. DE WITT MILLING [[/caption]]

Pair Were Heroes Of Early Aviation

By ROBERT DENNY

How General of the Air Force Henry (Hap) Arnold almost didn't live to become dean of American airmen was recalled yesterday by a ruddy-faced little gentleman whose booming voice belies his size.

Arnold, 63, who died Sunday of a heart attack at his California ranch, was one of the Army's first two regular pilots. The other was Thomas DeWitt (Tommy) Milling, now 62 and a retired Air Force brigadier general who lives at Alban Towers. 

Milling's story began in 1911 when he, a cavalry lieutenant, and Arnold, an infantry lieutenant, flew the Army's first Wright biplane at College Park.

Taught By Wrights

The pair, fresh from flying instruction given them by Orville and Wilbur Wright, were in a rickety, cloth-and-glue 35-horsepower contraption. 

Day after day, the two outdid each other in setting world records in aviation. They had no technical manuals, no benefit of research. 

They learned the hard way, surviving countless forced landings and crack-ups in an effort to establish the airplane as an effective military weapon.

Altitude Record Set


On one occasion, Milling recalled, Arnold almost killed himself when he froze his hands and feet so badly in setting a new world's high altitude record—4,167 feet—that he couldn't fly his airplane. 

Milling produced a newspaper clipping on the incident. Dated July 23, 1911, it quoted Arnold, who made the flight in street clothes, as describing the "terrible cold." He said he thought "my heart would congeal...my hands were powerless."

"I remembered that Wilbur Wright said that if any aeroplane were brought to earth in a spiral glide and the descent was steep enough, the machine would make a landing almost by itself," Arnold said.

Gritted His Teeth


Accordingly, Arnold said in the story, "I gritted my teeth" and forced the contraption into a spiral "and landed almost before I knew it."

Almost every day during the time the two pilots were flying at College Park, newspapers throughout the nation were carrying enthusiastic accounts of their feats.

One clipping of the period, reviewing the strides made by the pair and describing tactics yet to be attempted, posed the question in its first paragraph:

"May a 200-pound bomb be dropped from a rapidly-moving aeroplane without upsetting the machine and dashing its occupants to death?"

Arnold, according to Milling, was a "very good pilot—not exceptional—but very good." On the personal side, the retired general said, Arnold was "very lovable, had lots of drive and high ideals—but was never stuffy."

Milling can be regarded as an authority on Arnold's or anyone's flying ability, for he wasn't exactly a slouch himself. In fact, newspaper stories of the time carried more about Milling's prowess than that of his colleague.

One story tells of a time at College Park when Milling set a word [[world]] record for landing accuracy, landing with a dead engine within five feet of a given point. Arnold, in two tries, made it within 20 feet.

Milling Lionized in Boston


Another describes the ovation given Milling by thousands at Boston who saw him win an international air meet by landing by the light of a huge bonfire in his first night flight after completing a 175-mile cross-country.

At another meet, Milling, by that time described as "the world's greatest flier," walked away with $7,500 in preliminary awards and the $5,000 grand prize for setting a new endurance record with two passengers. He stayed up for exactly one hour, 54 minutes, and 11 seconds.

Flying in those days was tricky business. Milling explained that the Wright biplane landed at 30 miles an hour, cruised at 34 and had a maximum speed of 38. A careless movement could mean a stall.

Pair Splits Up


Milling and Arnold split up after their tour together as flying pioneers and instructors at College Park, Milling leaving to open up western flying fields and his companion assuming a staff post in Washington.

Milling who retired in 1933 due to ill health, met his distinguished pal again professionally when he was recalled to service in 1942. He retired again in 1946, but keeps a close eye on aviation and has some very emphatic opinions about it.

Doesn't Miss Flying


Despite governmental figures, and in a stone that would make a civil aeronautics administration official blanch, he says:

"The only real test of a pilot still is how long he can stay alive."

Answering another question, Milling declares: "Do I miss flying? No. It was work, not a sport. I think Hap felt the same way about it."

His most emphatic opinion, however, had to do with the new Air Force blue uniforms.

"They look like hell. No belt, no style—and a sickly color."

Arnold's Body To Lie in State

By United Press

The body of Gen. Henry H. Arnold, wartime commander of the Air Force, is scheduled to arrive here by plane from California at 10 a.m. tomorrow.

The Air Force said that the body will lie in state in the Washington National Cathedral until shortly before general services at Arlington National cemetery at 3 p.m. Thursday.

The public will be admitted to the cathedral's chapel of St. Joseph of Arimathea to view the body from 1 p.m. to 10 p.m. tomorrow and from 8 a.m. to 11 a.m. Thursday.

The body will be borne to the cemetery in a procession starting at Fifteenth street and Constitution avenue, about two blocks from the White House.