I am very grateful to Lynne Kirste of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences for passing along this restored high-definition footage of LZ-127 Graf Zeppelin taken at Los Angeles 85 years ago today, August 26, 1929.
This might easily have been one of the last films ever made of LZ-127: The ship was very nearly destroyed on its departure from Los Angeles the next day.
Near Disaster at Mines Field
Graf Zeppelin arrived at Los Angeles on August 26, 1929, after a 79 hour flight from Tokyo during the airship’s famous Round-the-World flight in 1929.
When the ship arrived at Mines Field at 5:00 in the morning it descended through a typical Los Angeles temperature inversion — the same phenomenon that causes smog to stick to the ground. The temperature was 77 degrees Fahrenheit at 1,500 feet over the field but only 66 degrees at ground level; as the ship descended into the colder air it became more buoyant and a large volume of hydrogen had to be valved to make the ship heavy enough to reach the ground.
Captain Hugo Eckener and his officers feared they could experience the same phenomenon on departure; their ship might be trapped on the ground like Los Angeles smog, buoyant in the cold air at ground level but without enough lift to climb through the warmer layer above.
To make things worse, the hydrogen tanks at Mines Field did not have enough gas to replenish all the hydrogen that had been valved to land. Eckener ordered drastic measures to lighten the ship: Fuel and water ballast were reduced to minimum levels; anything that could be left behind was offloaded; and Eckener sent six crewmen ahead to Lakehurst, the next stop, by train. But even that did not lighten the ship enough for it to rise into the warm air over the field. Eckener decided to use aerodynamic lift to force the heavy ship to climb, and with four of the engines at maximum power the ship raced down the field with its elevators pointed up to lower the tail and raise the nose. But even at sixty miles per hour the ship would not climb. Raising the elevators further would cause the tail to hit the ground, but as the ship approached the high-tension lines at the edge of the field Eckener knew he had no choice; if the ship hit the electrical wires it would be destroyed in a blaze of flaming hydrogen. Eckener ordered the elevators full up; the tail fin was driven into the ground and it dug a furrow almost 200 feet long as the ship scraped along. Finally the nose lifted upward, and the gondola cleared the wires by a matter of feet.
But the danger was far from over. While the ship’s nose was now clear, its tail was still below the fast-approaching wires. Choosing his moment carefully, Eckener ordered his son Knut, who was handling the elevator wheel, to apply full down elevator; the ship’s nose pivoted down, the tail raised up, and the tail fin cleared the wires, just barely. Graf Zeppelin had come within a few feet of destruction.
The Film
The film, made by amateur filmmaker Newcomb Condee, was restored and made public by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences Film Archive.
According to the Academy:
Enthusiastic amateur filmmaker Newcomb Condee joined over 100,000 people who flocked to see the Graf Zeppelin while it was moored for refueling at Mines Field in Los Angeles, now the site of Los Angeles International Airport. While most of the spectators had to content themselves with distant views of the airship, Mr. Condee managed to obtain a press badge, which allowed him to walk right up to the zeppelin and film this impressive silent footage with his 16mm home movie camera. Mr. Condee, a lawyer who would eventually become a judge in the Superior Court of Los Angeles County, can first be seen in the footage joking with armed National Guardsmen patrolling the airfield.
The Newcomb Condee Collection at the Academy Film Archive comprises 95 home movies, shot between 1926 and 1974. The films document the Condee family, their travels, and the changing landscape of Southern California, where they made their home. This footage of the Graf Zeppelin was preserved by the Academy Film Archive in 2012.
Graf Zeppelin and the Los Angeles Landscape
Graf Zeppelin’s visit to Los Angeles left a notable but temporary landmark; the Zep Diner at 515 W. Florence Avenue, near the intersection with S. Figueroa. It is now a McDonald’s parking lot.
The Zep Diner, Los Angeles
Thanks again to the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences for restoring and sharing this historic footage, and to Lynne Kirste, Special Collections Curator of their Film Archive, for passing it along.
I have a 16 mm film of the Zeppelin taken during its stay in LA. It was taken by Private Eugene W Sheridan. The mailing address on the film box reads “13th School Sqdn. Flt., B” Scott Field, Illinois
Without a doubt, the Mines Field takeoff is one of the most thrilling stories in airship history. I recently came across an account from Hubert Wilkins in Simon Nasht’s “The Last Explorer” in which right before the Graf Zeppelin’s vault, U.S. Navy observer Charles Rosendahl yelled at Eckener: “Doctor, bring her down, you can’t get above those wires. BRING HER DOWN!”
Now, I do take the Wilkins account with a grain of salt. Rosendahl’s own account in “Up Ship!” omits any mention of barking orders at Eckener, but he admits, “The take-off that night from Mines Field represents just about the closest call and the most hair-raising experience of my life.” Strong words from someone who narrowly escaped the crash of the Shenandoah with his life.
I don’t believe anyone would dispute that the Graf Zeppelin only narrowly avoided a collision with the power lines that likely would have resulted in a similar outcome to the airship Roma. Furthermore, the wires were visible from a great enough distance that, far from having “no choice” Eckener could have aborted his takeoff when it was clear that it would be a very close call.
To me it seems hard to reconcile Eckener’s decision to continue the takeoff with his reputation for putting safety first. It seems taken for gospel that the LZ 8 incident made Eckener commit himself to never allow external pressure to influence him to take flight under unsafe conditions. But what of internal pressure…his desire to set a world record or whatever else was in his head when he rushed to make a risky takeoff rather than waiting for improved conditions (or more hydrogen, if that was part of the issue)? Because of the outcome, we praise his superb handling of the Graf Zeppelin, but to me it seems like he unnecessarily risked his ship, crew, passengers, and the future of LTA travel!
After looking at the picture of the Zep Diner, I would like to mention that Zeppelins (Cepelinai) are the national dish of Lithuania. I first come across this dish at my dad’s Lithuanian parish when one of the parishioners asked me if I wanted to try his Zeppelins. Among the parishioners there, the word Zeppelin is much more associated with the dish, than with airships.
Here is more info.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cepelinai
Here is a recipe:
http://food52.com/recipes/10887-lithuanian-cepelinai-potato-meat-dumplings
The instructions say to “Get a little flour on your hands; take a full tablespoon of the potato mixture and flatten it. Make an indentation; put in ½ of a tablespoon meat mixture, close, and roll with your hands to an oval shape of a Zeppelin.”
The Graf Zeppelin was not bucked over high tension wires it seems, so much as it was jumped over high tension wires like a well schooled Thoroughbred taking a difficult cross country obstacle. I’ve owned a Quarter horse/Thoroughbred cross that loved to jump. He could also buck. There is a difference. You cannot buck a horse over an obstacle, and horses themselves don’t buck over an obstacle. Horses have taken difficult obstacles with a rider who has very fine tuned feel, and skilled hands and seat that gives the horse the best balance and body mechanics to do so.
Before I clarify further my above post, I would like to say that Dr. Eckener wasn’t the only one to jump an aircraft over an obstacle. Manfred Freiherr von Richthofen did so as well. I have his autobiography – “The Red Battle Flyer†translated by J. Ellis Barker, published in 1918. It is an interesting read. Before he became a pilot, the Red Baron was a cavalry officer and competed regularly in equestrian events before World War I. Here is an excerpt from one of his more spectacular rides on a horse named Felix: “ . . . I had the good fortune to be riding a fine horse at a Sports Meeting in Breslau. My horse did extremely well and I had hopes of succeeding. After a run of about half the course I approached the last obstacle. At a long distance I saw that this obstacle in front was bound to something extraordinary because a great crowd was watching near it . . . I approached the obstacle, going full speed. The people waved to me and shouted that I should not go so fast, but I neither heard nor saw. My horse jumped over and on the other side there was a steep slope with the river Weistritz in front. Before I could say ‘knife’ the horse, having jumped, fell with a gigantic leap unto the river. Of course, I was thrown over the head of the animal. Felix got out of the river on the one side and I on the other.â€
From this excerpt from the “Red Battle Flier†the Red Baron seems to apply some of his equestrian skills to this particular flight: “I was at the aerodrome of Metz and intended to return to my own quarters. When I pulled my machine out of the hanger the first signs of an approaching thunderstorm became noticeable. Clouds which looked like a gigantic pitch-black wall approached from the north. Old experienced pilots urged me not to fly. However, I had promised to return and I should have considered myself a coward if I had failed to come back because of a silly thunderstorm . . . When I started the rain began falling, I had to throw away my goggles, otherwise I should not have seen anything. The trouble was I that I had to travel over the mountains of the Moselle where the thunderstorm was just raging. I said to myself that probably I should be lucky and get through and rapidly approached the black cloud which had reached down to the earth . . . I was surrounded by an inky blackness. Beneath me the trees bent down in the gale. Suddenly I saw right in front of me a wooded height. I could not avoid it. My Albatros managed to take it. I was able to fly only in a straight line. Therefore, I had to take every obstacle that I encountered. My flight became a jumping competition purely and simply. I had to jump over trees, villages, spires and steeples, for I had to keep within a few yards of the ground, otherwise I would have seen nothing at all. The lightning was playing all around me . . . I felt certain of my death . . . Suddenly I saw on the horizon the darkness had become less thick. Over there the thunderstorm had passed. I would be saved if I could get so far, concentrating all of my energy I steered towards the light. Suddenly I got out of the thunder-cloud.â€
In looking at this particular sequence in the Graf Zeppelins take-off, “While the ship’s nose was now clear, its tail was still below the fast-approaching wires. Choosing his moment carefully, Eckener ordered his son Knut, who was handling the elevator wheel, to apply full down elevator; the ship’s nose pivoted down, the tail raised up, and the tail fin cleared the wires, just barely. Graf Zeppelin had come within a few feet of destruction.â€, I would like to show why this was not a bucking bronco, but a well schooled Thoroughbred. I could not help but compare the feat of Eckener and son with the Graf Zeppelin to this event: The official records for the greatest height cleared by a horse made by a Thoroughbred named Huaso ridden by Chilean Army Captain Alberto Larraguibel Morales. They set the high-jump world record on February 5, 1949, by jumping 2.47 m (8 ft 1 in) in Viña del Mar, Chile. This is the description of this particular flight in Captain Larraguibel’s words:
“On the first try, I miscalculated the distance and allowed the horse to refuse. If I had then applied the whip, the horse would had become nervous, because an animal understands when it’s being asked to perform above his capabilities. In the second jump, I must have made a mistake of a centimeter or so, because Huaso passed the hands but touched with the belly and the hinds, and knocked down the obstacle… there was only the third and last attempt left. I recalculated again, and in the precise moment we flew… The most difficult moment was the apex of the jump. My eyes were about 4 meters above the ground and I had the sensation of falling head first. My slightest tremor would have been felt by Huaso; who then would have left his hinds behind and we would have crashed together, but we went over. The moment seemed to last forever. I didn’t hear a single shout and thought that something had gone wrong, but I couldn’t hear the obstacles falling either…â€
The above excerpt was from a Wikipedia biography of Huaso which is at this link:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Huaso_(horse)
Here is a video of Larraguibel’s and Huaso’s famous jump. Captain Larraguibel’s narrative accompanies the video. This video shows that in the second attempt, not only does Larraguibel’s miscalculation of a centimeter result Huaso’s knocking the jump down, it also caused the pair to crash badly.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RuelF5U8TcI
Here is a video of a horse going over the Puissance Wall. The slow motion replay does an excellent job of showing how the rider must manage his weight and balance and hands when piloting an equine athlete at the edge of the performance envelope. The horse’s hind legs just barely clear the wall:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ML5N9vDAKjk
Also to show why the Graf Zeppelin’s take-off was not like a bronco being bucked here is a video of a rider clearing jump with his horse only to be bucked off moments later:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tAL_vxx2aSE
With all that said, I do like the broncos too:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hRXn1bvC3zo
So basically, the pilot only got the Graf Zeppelin out of LA in one piece by bucking her over some hight-tension wires like a bronco? Mr. Grossman, that’s wonderful! Where can I read any contemporary accounts about this? In the captain’s log somewhere? I don’t suppose Lady Grace Marguerite Hay Drummond-Hay wrote about it in her onboard journal for Hearst, did she?
All finest,
David Kipen
[email protected]
This is the same issue facing Captain Lehmann when he took off for his famous 101 hour flight in July 1917. He was close to the maximum capacity when he took off, and then found himself in a temperature inversion, so the only way to take off from Seerappen was to turn the engines on full and hope for the best. They could look right into the windows of the houses between the hangar and the hills surrounding them, and managed to just barely clear the hills.