The Chief Engineer

CXV

The Chrysler Building was the world’s tallest when Pan American took up residence there

Juan Trippe rarely left his office anymore. He didn’t have to. Pan American’s world headquarters had moved from its tiny suite in the east Fifties where Hugo Luderitz had to design Direction Finders on the edge of a desk, to far more spacious digs in the brand-new Chrysler Building.  He and his airline (pun intended) were clearly moving up in the world. Though he was just a tenant of Walter Chrysler (who loved the building his corporation had built so much that he bought it personally),  Juan could entertain business guests in the extravagant Cloud Club, which became and remained a New York fixture well into the 1970s.

The Chrysler Building’s exclusive art-deco Cloud Club was a New York fine dining institution until it was eclipsed by Windows On The World in the North Tower of the World Trade Center

Ironically, the Great Depression marked some of Pan Am’s best years.

There were many unsung heroes that made it so, and they remained unsung. Working for Juan Trippe could be thankless. With the single-mindedness of a zealot, Trippe simply expected his orders, however bizarre, convoluted, or technically challenging, to be carried out within the often arbitrary deadlines he set.  

“He didn’t ask how you’d do it, he just expected you to get it done,” Andre Priester, his Chief Engineer, later Vice-President, and effective second-in-command, once explained. Often, Juan didn’t understand the technical jargon he was presented with, and it had to be simplified for him. As long as he saw results and he had a basic understanding of how a thing worked, he was satisfied --- for the moment. 

Few photos exist of Andre Priester on the job. Here, he is with Juan Trippe and Miami Traffic Manager James Eaton in 1928, standing in front of an S-38

 

Although no one in the ranks complained, Trippe was secretive, ever increasingly so, and his secretiveness often caused corporate or operational problems. Plans might be drawn up and implemented only to come apart at the seams because they conflicted with some plot that Juan was hatching elsewhere. The only force that could rein him in was the Board of Directors and in the early 1930s they never did so. As long as the bottom line grew thicker they gave him virtually autocratic powers.

Pan Am obsessively logoed and product-placed itself. Its airplane toys were always popular and remain collector’s items today. They were given away free to employees’ children for birthdays and Christmas presents as well as being sold to the public

To insulate himself from potential problems, Trippe organized Pan Am as a thoroughly decentralized operation. Local Operations Centers were given a free hand to run the airline’s business entirely as they saw fit within their bailiwick. 

Budgets were localized too, allowing Juan, the Board, and the Corporate Officers to plead utter ignorance when irregularities came to light --- for example, Juan could honestly say that he had never authorized “discretionary cash disbursements” --- bribes --- to keep the airline running in places like Santo Domingo and Santiago. He hadn't forbade them either.

At the same time, Pan Am was shot through with moles who would report to Trippe any self-dealing on the part of the airline’s local representatives. There wasn’t much skimming, if truth be told. The Great Depression had made jobs dear, and Pan Am paid its operatives well --- perhaps even better than Trippe knew.  

  

Few people in the lower echelons of Pan Am ever saw Juan Trippe. He was a remote name, seemingly detached from the airline’s everyday concerns.

Working his secretaries and assistants ‘til midnights with not a word of thanks Juan simply presumed that they were happy to do so for the greater glory of Pan Am. How many people quit along the way is not known, but in the bad economy of the early 1930s the number must have been necessarily small. 

Priester’s “S-42” holiday card reminded employees to be “Thorough, Alert, Resourceful, [and] Prudent.”

 

It was the usually dour Andre Priester who put a human face to Pan American Airways. Priester had almost total discretionary power over virtually every aspect of airline operations.  Juan Trippe rarely questioned Andre Priester's decisions. It's likely he had no clue as to the extent of most of them. Priester, who wrote in a heavily-accented English, created all of the airline’s Operations Manuals. He laid out the specifications for the new aircraft that Trippe wanted. He oversaw flight scheduling. He oversaw Personnel. He might fire a pilot for anything from wearing a disheveled uniform to public drunkenness, but he also made sure that the airline’s employees all got their paychecks on time. Priester made certain that his pilots’ kids got birthday and Christmas presents “from Mr. Trippe.”  Priester had his own holiday cards made up as well. 

People went to Priester with their problems. If a pilot’s wife was expecting, Andre could put him on a short run so he could be closer to home when the time came. Juan’s oft-disgusted secretaries got significant raises and extra vacation days (Juan rarely noticed who was and wasn’t in the office, assuming that if someone was there they were supposed to be there, and if not, not). A stewardess could appeal to Priester when she was suspended for a "uniform violation" like wearing the wrong shade of stocking. The local managers in places like Veracruz, Mexico got perks --- new cars with company gas vouchers and the like --- to keep them happy. And so, for the most part, everybody was reasonably happy. 

In short, Priester was everywhere and knew everything about the day-to-day operations of Pan American Airways. Priester’s one-on-one personality left something to be desired though. He made it a point to interview all pilot applicants, and his interviewing process was legendary:

After being ushered into Priester’s office, where the applicant could read a wall plaque reminding him that Aviation is not in itself inherently dangerous. But to an even greater extent than the sea, it is terribly unforgiving of any carelessness, incapacity, or neglect, the would-be Pan Am pilot would be subjected to a long silent stare from Priester, who, with his high, bald head and gnomish body resembled a mad scientist. 

More silence reigned as Priester would squint, and then sit back in his chair. The nervous applicant usually stammered a few words at this point, feeling he was expected to say something.  

Pilot wings circa early 1930s

 

Priester would finally interrupt: “I haf read your qualiffications,” he would bark, the hard consonants of his thick Dutch accent making the pilot ever more nervous, “Ant you are hiret!”  Nothing more to be said, the interview was over.