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There are 67, 894, 397, 398, 459, 487, 376, 503, 978, 687 ways you can define the beginnings of “commercial aviation”.You will get different answers on how you define “commercial”.Is the first “passenger” ever carried a part of “commercial aviation”?Then, the Wright Flyer would qualify.ONE of the first passengers to ride in an airplane was Mrs Hart 0. Berg, who flew with Wilbur Wright at Le Mans, France, on October 7, 1908.Mrs Berg sat on the open framework of a Wright biplane and clutched a strut to keep from falling off.Her only defense against the wind was a string tied around her long skirt to hold it to her ankles.Maybe other women were afraid that the string might break.At any rate, few of them sought rides in this primitive transport.It took another 11 years and considerable improvement in airplane design to convince even a moderate number of persons that they should travel by air.ArgosyPARIS IN THE SPRING! A May morning of the year 1927. Imperial Airways’ newly launched “Silver Wing Service” give 18 passengers who boarded in London a dividend on their £9 (U.S. $44) ticket—a bird’s-eye view of the Eiffel Tower before a turn is made back to the northeast for a landing at Le Bourget.The aircraft is an Armstrong Whitworth Argosy, of which seven were built. All were named after cities. This one, the City of Birmingham, has been two and a half hours en route from London; headwinds of 30 kilometers per hour have caused her to fall behind schedule.Capt. 0. P. Jones is in command. He sits on the right side of the open cockpit and has been in radio communication with Le Bourget, which has reported a ceiling of 100 meters (300 feet) and visibility one kilometer (about half a mile).No matter; Captain Jones is pleased with the behavior of his wireless, which this morning allowed him to converse with Le Bourget from a distance of more than 50 miles. As for the landing, he will execute an L-K instrument approach, L-K standing for local knowledge. He will accomplish this one as handily as he has done so many before.The procedure is as uncomplicated as his aircraft: He will let down to the top of the overcast after searching out a thin spot or a small hole with something he recognizes at the bottom.Almost anything in the vicinity of Le Bourget will do; he knows by heart the compass course to the aerodrome from a church, a small factory, a certain road crossing, a rock quarry. And the land all around the aerodrome is conveniently flat and free of obstructions.Once on course, he will throttle back the Argosy’s three 385-hp Armstrong Siddeley Jaguar engines until his airspeed drops to 60.He will keep wings level with the aid of a new-style artificial horizon and keep a straight course down through the muck with his turn indicator.Warning of an incipient slip or crab will be signaled to him instantly from the feel and sound of the damp wind on his cheek—a sensitive instrument that long ago won his faith.Since his war service with the RFC, he has become quite proud of his cheek, and like his comrades on Imperial Airways is less than enthusiastic about future aircraft designs that show the pilot enclosed in a glass cockpit. “Bloody chicken coop!”If Captain Jones should miss his descent-distance plan slightly, the error is not serious.There are no runways at Le Bourget to trouble a man; like Croydon, you can land anywhere on the aerodrome, and on a still-wind morning like this, in any direction.White lines are marked on the green grass, and even in wretched visibility they inform a man whether he is landing too short or right on, or even suggest it would be wise to circle for another pass.No flaps, no spoilers, no retracted undercart to fret about. Just chop the throttles, ease the nose up and settle gently to the greens-ward at a nice 50 miles per hour.A final hissing as the wheels brush the grass, then a muffled thump.“Are we down?”When there is no wind, what could be sweeter than a wing loading of five pounds?The passengers are delighted with the City of Birmingham.While their American cousins who have managed to fly from one city to another in a small single-engine biplane are lucky to have a mail sack to sit on and a ham sandwich to chew while they mentally review their wills, these passengers enjoy a modest but tasty lunch.It is enhanced by a fine wine and served with the practiced skill of a steward who has learned his business caring for passengers aboard a blue-ribbon Cunarder.As a consequence, they are so full of zest and the joy of accomplishment they dare to attempt conversation over the high decibel count in the cabin.England, once lord of the seas, now promises to rule the skies, and the competition is weak. There is KLM with their Fokkers (very Spartan travel compared to an Argosy), France has her Air Union flying LE 021s, and the Germans are still in the Great War’s shadow with their single-engine Komet Ills.As the Argosy passengers survey the earth below and the curtained, candelabraed cabin that is their world aloft, and as they study the large airspeed indicator and altimeter placed in the cabin for their interest, they have reason to be smug about Britannia’s place in the aerial scheme of things.Soon they will have more inspiration, for by 1929, Argosys will be flying through to Egypt with such distinguished passengers as Sir Samuel Hoare, and Edward, Prince of Wales, shepherded by the same Capt. O. P. Jones.By November of 1929, Argosys will be showing the flag all the way through to Karachi, and the Air Ministry will have signed an agreement with Imperial Airways calling for a subsidy of £335,000 for the European and India routes. During the same year, GAPAN—the Guild of Air Pilots and Air Navigators—will be founded, “to further the efficiency of commercial aviation and to uphold the dignity and prestige of air pilots and navigators.”For the British, the promise of the skies is on every horizon. It is an ill-founded rumor that the sun will ever set on the empire. ❑Boeing got into the airplane business in 1916, several years before it was possible to round up enough hardy passengers to make a payload.Early Boeing commercial planes, like those of other American manufacturers, built to carry mail.The first big push to establish passenger-carrying airlines occurred in Europe.In 1919 several such lines were born, including predecessors of Air France and Lufthansa.America was off on a different tack, developing air mail routes.Foremost in this effort was the U. S. Post Office, which operated a number of mail planes.The Post Office had no interest in passengers.However, in 1925 it began entrusting the air mail to private enterprise. This resulted in rapid development of commercial aviation, including air travel.On April 4, 1927, the first scheduled flight of passengers over a contract mail route was made by Colonial Air Transport, between New York and Boston.Awarded CAM 1 between New York, Hartford, and Boston, Colonial Air Transport, unlike many of the early companies with airmail contracts, planned from the start to be more than just a mail carrier. This was reflected in the passenger capacity of their initial equipment which included two, single-engine Fokker Universals (4 passengers or 800 pounds of cargo) and two Fokker Trimotors (8 passengers or 1500 pounds of cargo). Beginning operation on June 18, 1926, C.A.T. carried only mail for the first six months. Consequently, when passenger service was inaugurated early in 1927, their pilots were familiar with the route and experienced in flying regular schedules in spite of the often marginal east-coast weather. While C.A.T. operated with 100% safety during this six-month "trial," there were 109 forced landings due to weather or darkness and 42 uncompleted trips. In these early days before instrument flying, pilots necessarily had to turn around or get down before losing visual contact ... a procedure that made flying a real adventure for passengers. During 1927, Colonial's first year of mail-freight-passenger operation, they completed 812 of 906 scheduled New York-to-Boston trips . . . carried 509 paying passengers, 20,895 pounds of mail, and 1,140 pounds of express. The daily eastbound flight left New Brunswick, New Jersey (terminus used for New York) at 6:00 AM and arrived in Boston at 9:05 AM. The westbound flight left Boston at 6:15 PM and arrived in New Brunswick at 9:15 PM. A scheduled intermediate stop was made in Hartford and, upon request, at Teterboro. The fare between New York and Boston was $35.00; baggage allowance, 30 pounds. In addition to their scheduled operation (primarily with the Fokker Universals), C.A.T. used their Fokker Trimotors to fly some 3,500 passengers on sight-seeing trips around New York. In April of 1927, after setting up beacon lights along their route, they also introduced a short-lived New York-to-Boston night flight. While their operation was not a big financial success, Colonial Air Transport managed to keep flying, safely and on regular schedules. In 1930 they became a part of American Airways . . . the predecessor to today's American Airlines.▲ Early in 1928—A Colonial Fairchild over the Mohawk Valley en route from Albany to Cleveland. Early Airlines Colonial Western Airways.This early airline was founded in May, 1927, by essentially the same syndicate that a year and a half earlier had started Colonial Air Transport, operating be-tween New York and Boston on C.A.M. 1. In organizing Colonial Western Airways to fly the mail over the 452-mile route of C.A.M. 20 between Albany and Cleveland, additional backers were brought in and a separate company incorporated. While nobody was getting rich in the air-line business, this second venture, like the first, was obviously a chance to invest in the future. An operations base for Colonial Western was set up in Albany and four aircraft were purchased. Since the new line planned to offer passenger service as soon as the route had been proven by flying mail schedules, three of the new planes were Fairchild FC-2 Cabin Monoplanes. Powered with Wright Whirlwind J5C's capable of developing 237 hp at 1950 rpms, the FC-2 featured folding wings for compact storage, a 4,000-pound gross weight, accommodations for four passengers and a 90 mph cruise. Its mail or passenger payload, exclusive of the pilot, was 800 pounds. The fourth plane purchased was a Pitcairn Mailwing with a 600-pound mail and express payload.▲ Pitcairn Mailwing. The Pitcairn PA-5 Mailwing was designed to carry air mail along the routes of the eastern United States. Efficient and economical, it helped build the route structure for what would ultimately become Eastern Air Lines. Actor Steve McQueen was known almost as readily for his roles as he was his love of cars, motorcycles and airplanes - including a rare PA-8 Mailwing, which was one of only six built by aviator Harold F. Pitcairn's company, Pitcairn Aviation in 1931. Harold F. Pitcairn left his imprint on early fixed-wing, autogiro, and rotary-wing aviation, as well as having spawned one of the country’s major airlines.Scheduled operation began on December 17, 1927, over the Buffalo-Cleveland leg, and at year's end the line could report a gross income of $365.40 for flying a total of 3,052 miles and carrying 329 pounds of mail. Full-scale operation began early in 1928 with six daily round trips per week. The westbound flight left Albany at 10 a.m. and arrived in Cleveland at 4:15 p.m. with intervening stops at Schenectady, Utica-Rome, Syracuse, Rochester and Buffalo. The eastbound flight left Cleveland at noon and arrived in Albany at 6:15. The one-way Albany-Cleveland fare was $60. While not noted for soundproofing or an abundance of headroom, Colonial's Fairchilds offered passengers relative comfort in a wicker seat or a rear settee, as well as an intimate flying experience. The pilot sat directly in front within shouting distance while the large side windows offered a wonderful view of the countryside below. In all, during 1928,Colonial carried 243 passengers ... and to pay the bills, a reported 45,309 pounds of U.S. mail. Like the parent Colonial Air Transport, Colonial Western Airways managed to keep flying until 1930 when they, too, became a part of American Airways . the predecessor of American Airlines.A passenger in those days often sat on a pile of mail sacks in an open cockpit and held a bag of mail in his lap. He wore a parachute and all the clothing he could get on, as protection against wind, rain, sleet, snow or sunshine. A trip under those conditions was an endurance test of flights and stops. Only the adventurous were interested.In 1927 Boeing joined the cheerful struggle for America’s air routes by building a fleet of 25 mail-and-passenger planes that were well ahead of all competition.These were the 40-As, biplanes powered by the new air-cooled Wasp engine.A 40-A could haul two passengers and 500 pounds of mail from San Francisco to Chicago in 30 hours.The 40-As were followed quickly by 40-B4s, with passenger cabins having four tightly fitted seats.In 1932, United Air Lines pilot Joe Smith has reached the venerable age of 23. (Captain Smith is now retired with 31,000 hours logged flight time.) The great Tex Rankin taught him to fly, and he has been at it four years, mostly over a route that has the worst flying weather in the United States, excepting Alaska.Because of the high terrain, it may thus be ranked along with the worst in the world, not excepting northern Europe, where at least the majority of clouds are not stuffed with granite.The route between Oakland, California and Seattle, Washington, officially designated Airmail Route 8, customarily produces every known meteorological phenomenon. There is fog to match any along the East Coast, winds exceeded only by the Alaskan breed, rain as a way of life, and ice like unto the cruel brand found along the Mason-Dixon Line. The United pilots who fly the run that was once Pacific Air Transport’s and Boeing’s can at least be grateful for the relative paucity of thunderstorms.Among Joe Smith’s comrades on the route are Virden, Miller, Tyler, Laughlin and Cunningham, names that will eventually identify senior royalty in the world’s largest air-line.None of them ever thought he would be called “Captain.”Dammit, a pilot was a pilot, and the sleeve with the stars that designate a thousand hours each was enough frill.Because of the high terrain, it may thus be ranked along with the worst in the world, not excepting northern Europe, where at least the majority of clouds are not stuffed with granite.There, sometimes torn between frustration and disappointment at their meager reward, they shot up the fancy wallpaper with their airmail .45s.When PAT was absorbed by United, the stock was honored, bullet holes and all.Even after the merger with United, the mail pilots of AM-8 share other mundane problems. Any clerk age 25 can buy $10,000 worth of life insurance for $151 per year. A mail pilot of identical age is obliged to pay $401 if he can find an insurer. Home, Metropolitan and Mutual, among most of the major concerns, flatly refuse to insure any man who flies “regularly.”Otherwise, things could be worse.Although the rest of the nation is aching through the curse of the great Depression, United is somehow meeting its payroll and even expanding.The Boeing 40-B-4 inherited from Boeing Air Transport is a fine flying machine, a man’s airplane, aging now, but still nearly without fault.It is ideally suited for the route, and as presently equipped with the new Boeing radiotelephone system, descents through the overcast create a much less severe pucker factor.An artful dispatcher standing on the hangar roof at either Oakland, Medford or Seattle can judge Smith’s whereabouts from the purr of his Hornet engine and direct him accordingly. “Turn due east and fly one minute, Joe . . . Okay, back to the east one minute .. . got you. Turn to 300 degrees now and start your descent. Okay? Level off at 1,000 . . . you’re coming fine, Joe. Now steady on 280 degrees and descend . . . you should break out about 500 feet with a good two-mile visibility underneath. Got ya! Welcome.”But flying needle, ball and airspeed is not common in the 40-8-4s or anything else. Once in a while a man is caught in solid cloud, and so literally sweats it out, he doesn’t need any additional heat in the cockpit. Or he fails to find a break, in which sad event large red cards are dropped along the route by searching comrades.IMPORTANTAn airmail plane has been lost in this vicinity. Anyone seeing or hearing a plane in this district during the hours of 8 a.m. to 12 noon Thursday morning, January 22, please telephone—It’s a long route, and shrewd pilots avoid bucking through on instruments. The best technique is to get right down on the ground if necessary—and stay there.One of the Boeing 40-B-4’s few faults is its relative blindness while taxiing, but in the air, visibility from the cockpit is satisfactory, providing you know what you are looking for.The fundamental truth to safe “contact” flying in bad weather is the ability to identify every stream, patch of forest, ranch and railway junction—instantly.Just hoping the hamlet that is momentarily visible straight down might be White Pigeon or Black Angus is asking for trouble.Convincing yourself it is such a place simply because it is due to appear means the beginning of your end if it happens to be some other hamlet.Later, while you are milling around entirely surrounded by bewilderment, you would do well to review your sins because they are soon to be reckoned.The cockpit of a mail plane is no place for a man who would lie to himself.Joe Smith and his comrades are acutely aware of the international human proneness toward wishful thinking.Like another United pilot named Jeppesen, they guard against uncertainty by keeping a special little book in the knee pocket of their flying suits.Each pilot is his own author, and he records certain facts about the route in his own way:“. . . AIRWAY BEACONS: Number 36b Marigold elevation-2,500 feet 37a Stagecoach-2,500 feet 37b Cowcreek-1,490 feet 38 Canyon Mountain-3,000 feet.”The book also contains personally drafted little diagrams of the new radio-range facilities, which have just been installed at a few of the major way points.The “legs” are drawn, the As and Ns marked, and the best s with their lengths and elevations.All of these notations have been meticulously compiled by the pilots themselves. Who else would do it?Yet, by far the most important aids to avigation are stored in the memories of the pilots.In the same fashion river pilots once knew every turn and eccentricity of a river, they know old MacDonald’s farm from Hansen’s spread.Although they may catch only a fragment of Mosby Creek, they will not confuse it with an unnamed creek to the north-east if only because there was no smell of sawmill smoke, and they immediately recognize Lake Fornicate because they christened it so.If they spy the loom of Mt. Adams there and Huckleberry Mountain puncturing the overcast off there, then the course must be “that way.”They are friends with the land beneath their wings.Later in the flight, down California way, even the calendar is verified, for the dependable Mrs. Post, who lives exactly eight miles north of Red Bluff Airport, invariably hangs out her laundry on Saturdays.There are many other friends below, usually quite unaware of their usefulness, but friends all the same.And when something happens to change the scene—a death, a sale, a remodeling—then it is soon known to the pilots of AM-8.All such air-ground friendships are not one-way even as the Northwest weather is not perpetually rotten.The summer sun is still high at five in the afternoon, when pilot Joe Smith, bound from Portland to Medford, Oregon, usually passes the fire lookout station on Quartz Mountain.During a previous trip, Smith had noticed something flashing from the same station and he thought, “That man is lonely,” so he left his regular course and buzzed the station.The ranger’s enthusiastic waving was enough to convince him all was well.Yet the thought of his isolation stayed with Smith, and the next trip he resolved to alleviate it.By now a custom has been established and a new friendship formed.Joe Smith buys a newspaper in Portland and soon afterward dives his 40-B-4 at the little clearing on Quartz Mountain.Tossing the paper this afternoon, he has risen higher than usual in the cockpit and one of the buckles on his helmet is loose.As the paper makes an arc for the target, his goggles are torn away by the slip-stream.A futile reach and Smith knows they are gone forever.It is going to be a long flight to Medford without their protection.Ten days later, Smith’s mail includes a mysterious package. It proves to be his lost goggles, which are not even scratched.“I found them hanging in the branch of a tree—”.The Boeing 40-8-4 was not only an efficient and air-kindly craft; it arrived on the aviation scene at just the right time less a year.The original design known as the Model 40-A was inspired in 1925 by the Post Office Department, which needed a replacement for the venerable Liberty-powered DH-4s. The Post Office bought one and the design was shelved.Approximately one year later, with the marvelous caprice of so many Government agencies, the Post Office suddenly advertised the transcontinental airmail routes for private bid. Boeing Air Transport, heedless of dire financial warnings, won AM-8 and revived their own 40-A design to do the job.To meet the operational deadline, 24 aircraft were built in six months.That the work was well done happened to be a very good thing for Boeing, since the advent of the type also marked a monumental change in the U.S. aircraft industry.Hitherto there had been no Governmental control over the construction of aircraft. As of January 1, 1927, the Department of Commerce took over strict regulation of airworthiness and registration.The Boeing 40-A model was furnished Approved Type Certificate Number 2.While they were at it, the Boeing engineers decided to hedge their gamble and make room for two paying passengers in a small cabin forward of the cockpit. New type designation: the Boeing 40-8-2. Later the cabin was enlarged to accommodate four people, who were obliged to be cozy whether they were so inclined or not.Thus the famous 40-B-4.The basic Model 40 design seemed blessed from the very start. The type went directly into service without the usual lengthy ceremonies involved in testing a prototype.The fine Pratt and Whitney Wasp engine had just become available for the earlier models, and soon afterward came the beautiful Hornet engine, which in itself contributed mightily to the progress of American commercial aviation.Overall construction was welded steel tubing, dural and fabric covering.A total of 39 were built, the last in 1932. It had such attributes as a tailwheel, three-bladed propeller, hand-operated wheel brakes, two-position rudder bar, and an airspeed and altitude indicator for the interest of the passengers.The quality of construction may be solemnly weighted against a certain shoddiness to be found in some later aircraft.Two Canadian-built 40-B-4s survived to fly in World War II!Pressed into military service by the New Zealand Government, both were lost in action during the New Guinea campaign.Two others still exist, one in the Ford Museum, Dearborn, and the other at The Museum of Science and Industry, Chicago.▲ Airlines and their aircraft types: 1936And don’t forget Germany!1915: A certain Prof. Hugo Junkers, formerly a successful heating engineer, has become intrigued with the possibilities of using aircraft for advantage in the war and later for the coming peace when Germany rules the western world.Some say he is a little crazy because he has formed a company to manufacture an all-metal flying machine.Metal fly?Obviously, Herr Professor Junkers has slipped into senility at age 56.It is hardly surprising that no one will donate precious aluminum for such a mad enterprise.Look at the lightness of properly built aircraft like the Eindeckers.Both critics and friends strongly recommend that the Professor take counsel with the young Dutchman Tony Fokker before venturing further into the science of aeronautics.Yet a first aircraft is something like a first child, and Hugo Junkers has no intention of sharing parentage.He proceeds to build his creation alone, using sheet iron for skin and iron tubing for frame.The wing is of cantilever design, an innovation that only magnifies the madness of the scheme, and fears are openly expressed for the life of young Lieutenant von Mallinckrodt, who is to fly the silly thing.On a gray December day when German children are already being warned that because of the war, Christmas must be most frugally observed, von Mallinckrodt becomes airborne in the world’s first all-metal aircraft.Designated the 1.1, it is the sire of innumerable Junkers aircraft, one of the most notable being the Junkers Ju.52/3m.Twenty years later, when the washboard-ugly Ford Trimotor reigns as queen of the skies in North and Central America, the Junkers 52/3m will begin its distinguished career and soon be flying in regions where the Ford is totally unknown.Professor Junkers’ ubiquitous three-engine flying machine will eventually be affectionately known by pilots the world over as Iron Annie.Soon after the successful flight of his first aircraft, Junkers actually does join with the enterprising young Dutchman to form a new company, Junkers-Fokker Werke A.G.It survives until 1919, when the Versailles Treaty terminates all German military aircraft production.Before the boom falls, Professor Junkers’ transport version of the Junkers 10 manages to make the first commercial flight of an all-metal aircraft, between Weimar and Dessau.The manifest lists one passenger.Only a few years pass before Germany is back in the air, with Professor Junkers leading the way.He is working on a flying-wing design and has actually produced the Junkers F.13 with the now-standard Junkers construction of corrugated Duralumin skin and metal throughout.Not only does the F.13 find favor in Europe, but six are purchased by—of all institutions—the United States Post Office, which intends to use them on the mail service between New York, Chicago and Omaha.Several F.13s are sent off to China, where the German-controlled Eurasia Aviation Corporation is solid proof of Teutonic interest in the future of Far East aviation.To exploit that interest, two Junkers G.24s fly from Berlin to Peking via Siberia and return without incident.The aircraft can carry nine passengers and is a great success on the European circuit.The year is 1926, and Germany is on the rise again.Two years later, a Junkers christened Bremen flies the first east-west transatlantic nonstop flight, between Baldonnel, in Ireland, and Greeneley Island, off Labrador, making the trip in 36 and a half hours.Enter ex-Corporal Adolf Hitler (Iron Cross), whose views on the future of Germany, and particularly German aviation, do not agree with those of Prof. Hugo Junkers.Junkers is forcibly “retired with honor,” but not before his firm has produced the three-engine Junkers Ju.52.It is not long before the 52s are flying all over the world, and for good reason.Their performance cannot be duplicated by any other contemporary aircraft, operation is economical, and their overall construction is so hell-for-stout they are ideally suited to the very rough going found in the boondocks of Asia, Africa and South America.In China, where the China National Aviation Corporation operates what is possibly the most colorful flight service in the world.The Junkers Ju.52 is more comfortable and far more efficient than the American-built Stinsons and Loening amphibians that are also on the CNAC roster.You can stuff more than 20 Chinese into the cabin, or heave up a satisfying load of ammunition for an anxious warlord, or remove his body from the field if he is no longer functional.CNAC pilots are a recalcitrant, swash-buckling lot of internationals who make their own rules and promptly proceed to break every one of them.They drink when they are thirsty and are not particular about how much time elapses before they make the next ascension.The likes of the two Americans, Sloniger and Caperton, who have come to China with the intention of selling Curtiss-Wright products, are quite at home among as rambunctious a covey of aerial adventurers as has ever been assembled under one corporate flag.Even the future-eyeing Pan American, which has contrived to buy the American interest in CNAC, cannot tame their new and merry band of pilots.All self-respecting CNAC pilots do a little personal smuggling, but then smuggling is a way of life throughout China.They are thoroughly familiar with the rules of “squeeze” when applied to their own benefit, and their attitude toward their official employers, their Chinese hosts and their passengers is haughtiness crossed with good-natured condescension.(This reputation will hardly be diminished by their exploits while flying the Hump during World War II in DC-2s and -3s.)On one matter only are all CNAC pilots in fervent agreement.For their money—which is not inconsiderable—you cannot build a better airplane than a Ju.52.Unless a man dives it straight into the ground, walking away from a forced landing is almost a certainty.Among other attributes, they are pleased with the way the 52s get off the ground despite the occasional overloads and the nearly perpetual steaming heat in the south of China.Yet beautiful women and fine aircraft must always hold certain tricks to make them interesting, and as so often happens after first infatuation, a man may discover the fault is the direct result of a quality, a contradiction he missed on first appraisal.One of the reasons for the 52's agreeable flying nature is the employment of the “double wing” concept: Full-span flaps—the outer portions of which operate differentially as ailerons—are set below and quite apart from the trailing edge.The separation between the two sets of airfoils is considerable, so much that when viewed from below, the Ju.52 appears to have a second wing trailing along behind the main span.The immediate result is great aerodynamic efficiency in the ailerons, and lateral control is excellent.Ernst Zindel, the original designer of the single-engine 52, was not a pilot, so he was ignorant of a nuisance called “ice.”Alas, European pilots flying 52s soon learned the hard way that their normally benign bird could become an absolute beast after only a few minutes in ice.The separation between wing trailing edge and aileron/flap leading edge provided an ideal trap for ice accumulation, and there was double jeopardy in the result.Even if the pilot was foresighted enough to keep wagging his wings and thus avoid a complete lock, there was nothing he could do about the form in which the ice accumulated.Unfortunately, it often produced a negative-lift effect and a complete reversal of control response.Deutsch Lufthansa customarily named their Ju.52s after famous German airmen of World War 1.There was the Manfred von Richthofen, the Oswald Boelcke and the Ernst Udet.As tragedy struck time and again, new 52s were christened with the names of Lufthansa pilots whose final plea for a DF bearing had been followed only by permanent silence.The villain was invariably ice.By 1928, Professor Junkers’ enterprise had produced more than a thousand aircraft.There was no such matching production anywhere in the world, and the feat was continued right into World War II, when the Junkers complex employed a peak of 140,000 persons.Junkers Ju.52s had been heavily involved in the Grand Chaco War and the Spanish Civil War.In all, 4,832 Iron Annies were built, and although thousands were lost in World War II, they refused to become extinct or even moribund when that conflict ended.Air France and the French Air Force used the 52s that were built in France during the occupation.The British used 52s to smooth their reentry into the airline business after the war, and 52s were similarly valued in Scandinavia, Portugal, Greece, Poland, South Africa and South America.Forty years after the Iron Annies first took the sky, the Spanish Air Force kept a few operational!The story doesn’t end here; it is only beginning!