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A little boy jumped with a para- chute made from a tablecloth, felt the parachute give way above him, felt the world come up beneath him, rolled over uninjured. He had landed on a pile of hay. The boy was James De Witt Hill. About 35 years later he jumped from Old Orchard, Me., in an airplane made of wood and wires and steel; felt the airplane give way around him; felt the world coming up beneath him; splashed down into the ocean, disappeared.
Another boy constructed a glider and flew 1,000 feet off a California cliff. He was Lloyd W. Bertaud, aged 12. Grown-up he became an Army instructor in the War; an airmail pilot, a stunt flyer. Five years ago he went into the air with Miss Helen Lent of New York, and Belvin W. Maynard, "the flying-parson." The Reverend Maynard shouted a service into their ears; they came down to earth as Mr. & Mrs. Bertaud. Last week Lloyd Bertaud came down again, but not to earth. He splashed into the ocean, disappeared.
Philip A. Payne was not a child-hood aviator. He served in France during the War, but not in aviation. He embarked upon a field of work new to U. S., but it was not aviation. Mr. Payne took charge of the New York Daily News, the first of Manhattan's tabloid newspapers. Under his daring guidance it became an undreamed of success. Such a success that William Randolph Hearst engaged Mr. Payne to edit his New York tabloid, the Daily Mirror. The Mirror jumped amazingly in circulation. Last week Philip A. Payne jumped from Old Orchard, Me., in Mr. Hearst's airplane the Old Glory; splashed into the rough and foggy sea, disappeared.
Months of preparation had preceded their disappearance. Publisher Hearst had taken every known precaution for Old Glory: A complete radio set, rubber raft, flares, much food for the flyers, even little metal mouthpieces which distill a cup of water from the breath every 24 hours. The destination of the plane was Rome, 4,100 miles away (115 miles beyond Clarence Chamberlin's endurance record into Germany.) The Pope in his Vatican nodded, pleased, when the wires told how Father Mullen, Old Orchard priest, had blessed the plane and tits mission just before the takeoff.
For 14 hours after this take-off the Old Glory radio functioned perfectly, saying for the first 500 miles "all well." Then an electric whisper went up the spine of the listening world. SOS. Silence. Five minutes later another SOS. WRHP*—Five Hours out from Newfoundland, east. Silence.
Four ocean liners wheeled from their courses to comb the estimated spot where Old Glory radioed distress. It was a foggy night, rainy, winds were high. Though the ships reached the vicinity within a few hours after the cry for help, the nervous fingers of their groping searchlights could not touch the spot where three men may have floated in a soggy plane, or on a little rubber raft.
William Randolph Hearst published in his Mirror: "I will gladly give $25,000 to the captain and the crew of the ship which finds them." He also published telegrams through which he said, "I did my best to prevent him [Philip Payne] from going." Also, a telegram sent to Editor Payne prior to the flight: "I will not assume responsibility, but will proceed only if the Government will assume authority and responsibility." Editor Payne replied: "Secretary of Aviation F. Trubee Davison and Department of Commerce pronounce Old