Pihemanu

CLVIII

The morning of November 24, 1935 was another brilliant, breezy tropical day. Just past 6:30 in the morning, to the sounds of a bleary-eyed brass band and the cheers of ground crew and aviation diehards who had waited overnight to see her lift off, the China Clipper roared away, northwestward toward her next stop, Midway, some 1,380 miles distant. She was scheduled to arrive around two in the afternoon. 

The Midway run was more relaxed than the San Francisco-to-Honolulu hop. For one thing, it was half the distance. For another, the China Clipper was rarely out of sight of land. The long Hawaiian Island chain lay right along her track, strung out like a necklace of deep green emeralds and glistening adamantines below her. There were a surprising number of boats out, their skippers and crews all gazing expectantly at the sky for a glimpse of the big ship as she winged overhead. If she was forced down the crew reasoned they had a more than fair chance of survival. 

Since they knew where they were, it was an excellent time to test the calibration of the instruments. Ed Musick was still reporting in every half hour, but Noonan’s positions were today dead reckoned off a chart. The remaining southeastern Windward Islands --- Kaua’i and Ni’ihau --- vanished astern, and the flying boat raised the Leeward Islands --- Nihoa, Necker, French Frigate Shoals, Gardner, Laysan, Lisianski, and Pearl and Hermes Reef --- in turn before she circled over Midway and landed in the lagoon at 2:01 P.M., just a minute behind schedule. 

The barrier reef at Pearl and Hermes

 

In the eight months since the Pan American Clipper had first visited Midway, the atoll had changed considerably. Roughly fifty people now called Midway home, at least impermanently, and the island’s human population was surprisingly eclectic, from the haole resort managers, to the muscular Hawaiian workmen who provided a good bit of sweat making the island what it was becoming, to the half-dozen or so Marines who kept the officially invisible gun turrets in order, to the three Naval officers who officially oversaw the radio station (it broadcast a show to passing ships, “Music To Miss Your Girl By”), the Adcock Array, and the Weather Station. Technically, they governed the atoll. The S.S. North Haven had brought a few Chamorros back from Guam looking for work, and they grunted and sweat alongside the Hawaiians. Altogether, they were going to make up the hotel staff when it opened.

The China Clipper at Midway

The men had worked hard. Pretty tropical plants decorated the walkways. The Gooneyville Lodge was complete, if empty of guests. The maintenance shops were up and running, the tank farm reassuringly visible. There was the Adcock Array, the staff housing, the old cable company buildings. The island’s transportation system --- a pair of Ford Woodys --- was parked near the hotel, an impromptu Motor Pool. There was a grass tennis court. The workmen had carved out a baseball diamond for themselves, and had laid out a nine-hole golf course covered mostly by scrub grass. Players were given red golf balls, easier to see against the flat white sand and dull green grass. Besides the nine official holes, there were innumerable bird holes on the course, the trap was coral sand, and the water obstacle was the lagoon. While they were there, the China Clipper crew was invited to take a few practice swings. Raising a club would set the birds to squawking.

The Laysan Albatross or “Gooney Bird” on Midway

 

A Pan Am travelogue on Gooney Birds, Midway, and Wake

The birds were everywhere, in their hundreds of millions, ten thousand species of them. Official Washington had given the Pacific base a convenient cover status as a bird sanctuary, never realizing how appropriate that was (and eventually, Midway would be formally designated a National Wildlife Refuge). Everything, everything, was bird-splattered, and keeping things clean was a major task, one not aided at all by the oblivious gooney birds, so wild that they were tame, who had always owned the place. Not for nothing had the Hawaiians called the atoll Pihemanu, “The Cry of Birds.”

Pan American posted hourly news updates during the China Clipper's inaugural flight, giving its position and the weather conditions. Some of it was invented material to heighten the public's excitement. Every layover rated a news story, and the ship's departure from Hawaii and its arrival in Manila were both front page material