By Ann L. Buttenwieser
A silver propeller juts out of a rock at the edge of the landfill that stretches south from Liggett Hall. Ostensibly to memorialize the world's first flight over water, it also harkens back to a vibrant competition that took place on the Island a century ago, during the Hudson-Fulton tercentennial in 1909.
At the time the newly created extension of the Island was an uneven, sandy, mosquito-ridden plain waiting to settle and waiting for funds from Washington to develop it into a first class Army base. But the empty acres provided the perfect venue for an exciting aeronautical demonstration during the jubilee.
The site was close enough to Manhattan to easily bring distinguished spectators, it held a prominent position in the harbor where boats of all shapes and sizes could gather to watch, and it had enough clear land for a rudimentary airfield.
The Hudson-Fulton Jubilee committee invited aviators Wilbur Wright and Glenn Curtiss, healthy competitors in business and in the air, to exhibit their prowess by flying over water. Besides the glory, there was the enticement of money. A donation in honor of Joseph Pulitzer of the New York World assured that the pilots would be paid $1,000 for expenses. To encourage new records, there was an additional $15,000 for whoever stayed aloft for more than ten miles.
By September 22 the committee had constructed a small airstrip and two shelters for the two aircraft. Curtiss and Wright had a cordial meeting in front of Wright's shed, optimistically called "aerodrome" in the press. Inside the shed Wright's mechanic, Charlie Taylor, assembled the 1907 Model-A-type flying machine. Having assisted prior ascents from sand dunes in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, he built a monorail to catapult the plane from the shed, avoiding the possibility of the wheels sinking into the soft surface of the landfill. Curtiss planned to take off from the sand.
September 29 was the day of reckoning. Curtiss made an attempt at 6 a.m. Reports are murky as to the results. Some say he actually flew 200 yards. Others say his wheels got stuck. Wright had clearer success. Around 9 a.m. he catapulted into the air from his track. Three flags were raised and three bombs detonated to signal to everyone in the harbor that a flight was finally in progress.
In seven minutes Wright flew twice around the Island. Not content with this, and failing to meet the ten-mile challenge, he took off again at 10:18, this time for five minutes. Saluted by the whistles of harbor craft and the mighty steamship Lusitania, he circled the Statue of Liberty at 50 miles an hour. In one more attempt at greater mileage later that afternoon, he stayed up for 12 minutes. At the end of the day he had failed to win the $15,000 purse, but he had set a record for making the first flight over American waters.
The Wright-Curtiss rivalry continued. On October 2 Curtiss tried and failed once again to take off. Wright flew again two days later. To the plaudits of the press and the excitement of viewers up and down the river, he flew 20 miles in 33 minutes, circled Grant's Tomb and returned to the Island. The glory and the prize money were his.
For the Army, Wright's flights were a precursor of the role that flight would have in future wars. For Governors Island they were the first salvo in a campaign to use the Island as a commercial airport. The campaign went on for more than 30 years, but the idea never got lift-off.
Ann L. Buttenwieser is the author of the newly published "Governors Island: The Jewel of New York Harbor," from which this is adapted by permission of Syracuse University Press.
The Hudson-Fulton Jubilee committee invited aviators Wilbur Wright and Glenn Curtiss, healthy competitors in business and in the air, to exhibit their prowess by flying over water. Besides the glory, there was the enticement of money. A donation in honor of Joseph Pulitzer of the New York World assured that the pilots would be paid $1,000 for expenses. To encourage new records, there was an additional $15,000 for whoever stayed aloft for more than ten miles.
By September 22 the committee had constructed a small airstrip and two shelters for the two aircraft. Curtiss and Wright had a cordial meeting in front of Wright's shed, optimistically called "aerodrome" in the press. Inside the shed Wright's mechanic, Charlie Taylor, assembled the 1907 Model-A-type flying machine. Having assisted prior ascents from sand dunes in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, he built a monorail to catapult the plane from the shed, avoiding the possibility of the wheels sinking into the soft surface of the landfill. Curtiss planned to take off from the sand.
September 29 was the day of reckoning. Curtiss made an attempt at 6 a.m. Reports are murky as to the results. Some say he actually flew 200 yards. Others say his wheels got stuck. Wright had clearer success. Around 9 a.m. he catapulted into the air from his track. Three flags were raised and three bombs detonated to signal to everyone in the harbor that a flight was finally in progress.
In seven minutes Wright flew twice around the Island. Not content with this, and failing to meet the ten-mile challenge, he took off again at 10:18, this time for five minutes. Saluted by the whistles of harbor craft and the mighty steamship Lusitania, he circled the Statue of Liberty at 50 miles an hour. In one more attempt at greater mileage later that afternoon, he stayed up for 12 minutes. At the end of the day he had failed to win the $15,000 purse, but he had set a record for making the first flight over American waters.
The Wright-Curtiss rivalry continued. On October 2 Curtiss tried and failed once again to take off. Wright flew again two days later. To the plaudits of the press and the excitement of viewers up and down the river, he flew 20 miles in 33 minutes, circled Grant's Tomb and returned to the Island. The glory and the prize money were his.
For the Army, Wright's flights were a precursor of the role that flight would have in future wars. For Governors Island they were the first salvo in a campaign to use the Island as a commercial airport. The campaign went on for more than 30 years, but the idea never got lift-off.
Ann L. Buttenwieser is the author of the newly published "Governors Island: The Jewel of New York Harbor," from which this is adapted by permission of Syracuse University Press.