Another Thing Entirely

CXL

Pan Am pilot Mark Walker in the hatchway of an S-42

By 1935, crossing the Atlantic had been reduced to a technical problem. Both the Hindenburg and the Graf Zeppelin were making routine and regularly-scheduled flights across the North and Central Atlantic. Air France was leapfrogging the Atlantic narrows with mail. And the S-42, built for the Atlantic run, was only precluded from making the flight because it didn’t have permission to land anywhere on the far side. Still, nobody doubted that regular airplane flights across the Atlantic lay just a few moments in the future as technological time is measured. The reality was that flying across the Atlantic had become relatively easy. Load a modern plane with enough fuel in New York, point toward the sunrise, and eventually, barring mankilling weather conditions, the pilot would find himself crossing a distant shoreline, whether in Europe or in Africa. You couldn’t miss the Old World. And, as an extra bonus, a plane flying from New York eastward could make an emergency stop first at Shediac in New Brunswick or lastly at Botwood in Newfoundland. For the first third of the 3,000 mile Atlantic passage a plane hardly needed be out of sight of land. It was 1,994 miles across open water out of sight of land between Botwood and Foynes in Ireland. 

The Hawaiian Islands. Hawaii, the Big Island, is to the right. Midway is to the extreme left. The distance between them is about 1,500 miles, the same distance as lies between New York City and Miami

The Pacific was another thing entirely. From the moment a Clipper lifted off from San Francisco Bay and overflew Alcatraz Island and its new maximum security prison, the crew was on its own. 2,402 miles separated the Clipper base under construction at Alameda from Honolulu. There were no intervening stops. And there was no comforting continental landmass waiting at the end of the flight.  There was just Hawaii, with its 4,000 square mile Big Island and crowded Oahu just six hundred miles square. Pinpoint navigation was needed if a pilot was going to make the hop and survive. A navigational error of even a fraction of a degree could be fatal. And there were no navigational aids.  The Pacific had an aura of death about it. Thirteen pilots had vanished trying to make the trip from California to Hawaii, ten of them in 1927 alone while competing for the Dole Prize offered by the First (haole) Family of Hawaii. More had turned back. It was not until 1934 that six U.S. Navy flying boats had made the crossing. And now Trippe was dedicated to making the route commercially viable.

 

One of the Navy P2Y-1s that flew from San Francisco to Hawaii in January 1934

As soon as President Roosevelt signed the paperwork allowing Pan Am to rent Midway and Wake, Juan Trippe put Hugo Leuteritz back to work improving the Radio Direction Finder for greater distances. Trippe wanted a zero-tolerance mechanism with enough power to send a signal between California and Honolulu, Honolulu to Midway, Midway to Wake, Wake to Guam, Guam to the Philippines. Trippe also set about buying the China National Aviation Corporation (CNAC) so that he could provide service to, and within, China.  He also began developing the necessary way stations on Midway and Wake. Navy bases already existed on Guam and in The Philippines, and Pan Am had permission to use them.

The Matson liner S.S. Lurline (“River Siren”), launched in 1932, was named for William Matson’s daughter. She was the most luxurious of four steamship sisters owned by Matson Lines, and a favorite with celebrities making the transpacific crossing from the mainland to Hawaii. During World War II, she operated as a troopship and supply vessel. During the war she was justly famous for her ability to outrun Japanese submarines. In 1945 she returned to civilian service, first as a liner and then a cruise ship, operating until 1980. Aloha Tower is in the background

Seemingly by magic, all of Pan Am’s airmail problems with the Black Committee and with James Farley went away. Suddenly, Pan Am was handed (in the best Republican Decade fashion) the transpacific FAM route without any competitive bidding and at the old rate of $2.00 per mile. A red-faced Jim Farley took a long time to forgive FDR for what he perceived as a slapdown.  Money flowed into Pan Am’s coffers --- from somewhere --- allowing them to build the Pacific bases without any delay. Pan American Supply, the airline’s manufacturing component, began collecting materiel.  

Wake

Just as everything was in place, the Matson Line, which ran steamships from the West Coast to Hawaii, announced that it was initiating a subsidiary, Inter-Island Air, to do what Trippe was planning to do. Juan tried to buy them off, unsuccessfully, but just as it seemed his plans were about to collapse, Inter-Island sold out to Pan Am in a surprise move. Matson received Pan Am stock in return, and its President became a Pan Am Board member.

The Pan American Hotel on Midway Island, 1935. Note the gooney birds which occupy Midway by the millions

On March 27, 1935, the S.S. North Haven, a cargo ship chartered by Pan Am from Northland Transportation Company (“Reliable Shipping To Alaska and Hawaii”) set sail for Midway from San Francisco carrying 118 laborers and $500,000 worth of cargo (worth almost nine million dollars today) to build Juan Trippe’s latest dream.

Supplies being offloaded from the S.S. North Haven at Wake, 1935