KYUM Flying Record

abbreviated story---Oct. 11, 1949

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Update to Story October 11, 1999

Somewhere along the way he and Horace Heidt got to talking about running a radio station and Ray mentioned he knew of a station that was for sale in Phoenix, Arizona. Horace decided to buy the station and told Ray that he'd give him half of the operation if Ray would be the manager. Ray agreed and went off to make an offer on the station.

Unfortunately, cowboy singer Gene Autry got there first and closed the deal on the station. However, Ray Smucker met someone else on that trip who later called and asked if he'd manage a new station they had just acquired. He said "Yes" and then found himself in the little town of Yuma, Arizona.

(This story is paraphrased):
Yuma, in the southwestern corner of Arizona, had about 9,000 people in the city during that time (1944), and an air base outside of town with eighty thousand servicemen.

Five years later, the government decided to shut down the air base, and a group of people (who were driving to a distant city on business) were trying to decide what to do to promote the fact that Yuma had this great facility with a six-thousand foot runway and great flying weather nearly every day of the year. This was a 300 mile round trip so they had plenty of time for talking.

Somewhere along the line two of the men in the group casually mentioned that two fliers in California had just broken an endurance record for staying aloft in a light aircraft. The mark the California men had set was 800 hours.

Before long one man had volunteered to be the pilot and another knew a person who might like to be his flying partner. Another man, a car dealer, said he'd provide a car to help refuel the plane. The only thing missing was an airplane.

The next day I went down to Byrnes's Law Office and laid out our crazy plan to him. I figured Pete would have enough imagination not to laugh me out of his office! We discussed what this stunt could mean to Yuma as an attention getter for our flying weather and the fact that the big base was just sitting there going to waste. The more we talked, the more enthusiastic Pete got about the whole idea. We decided to call a meeting of the Jaycees in Pete's office for two o'clock that afternoon.

I called Woody and had him get in touch with his friend Bob Woodhouse, and that afternoon about fifteen members of the Junior Chamber of Commerce assembled in Pete's office. We laid out our idea, and without exception, everyone liked it. Woody's friend agreed to be the other pilot. Our first big hurdle was to get an airplane, and one of the members mentioned he knew of someone who had a nice plane (a four seater Aeronca) and wondered if the guy would loan it to them. Both pilots conceded that this would be an ideal aircraft for the job.

The airplane's owner, Claude Sharpenstein, got to the meeting late. When he sat down we all went to work on him. Pete said, "Claude, we want to borrow your airplane." Claude looked greatly relieved. He knew that with this bunch he was probably in for some kind of contribution, and he was glad it was only to take someone on a little trip. Then the axe fell! Pete said, "We want to use it to break the world's endurance flight record."

When Claude's head finally came down from the ceiling, he looked at all of us and said, "You mean with my plane? Do you guys know what that thing cost me?" But we wouldn't give up. We worked on Claude for some time. He finally agreed, provided we put a new engine in the plane and return it to him in the same condition he let us have it.

The meeting over, we all left and started out on all the other promotions we needed to do. Continental Motors agreed to furnish a new engine at the finish of the flight, Union Oil Company agreed to furnish all the fuel, Griffin Buick would furnish a convertible on which we could build a platform for refueling purposes, and the Valley Cafe agreed to furnish the food. We got a doctor who agreed to be the flight surgeon, a two-way radio was donated, and a mechanic with the Marsh Aviation Company volunteered to be the Chief Mechanic. Meetings were held every morning at eight o'clock to map out plans and fill in a few missing details. It was then time to release the first bit of publicity, two fliers would attempt to break the World's Endurance Flight Record, held in California, of eight hundred hours, and prove that Yuma, Arizona, had the greatest flying weather in the world.

Claude Sharpenstein flew his plane over to Marsh's private field and fondly kissed it good-bye while the work started on it to make all the modifications necessary for the venture. One front seat and the entire back seat were taken out to make room for the extra fuel tanks that would be needed. A special hand pump was installed to pump that gasoline from the three gallon cans handed up in the refueling process. Standby magnetos, exercise bars, air matresses and containers for drinking water and bathing were installed. The motor was tuned up as sharp as the boys could get it. The Penn Sign Company painted their slogans all over the ship.

At that time there was no such thing as refueling from the air, so we decided on the following procedure. From our Buick convertible on the ground, we figured to refuel three times every twnety-four hours: about nine in the morning, six in the evening, and then again at two o'clock in the morning. Three gallon milk cans, tightly sealed, were used to hand up the fuel, along with mail, water, food, oil, etc. Seaparate crews were organized for each job, meaning three different groups. We needed a driver for each shift, and a "grounder," who would hold a steel fishing rod against the plane to ground it. The whole operation was something, believe me, but the refueling runs were where the real action took place. Three times a day the Buick would head down the runway at about eighty miles an hour, while the pilots would hover close to the car's platform. We'd speed down that six-thousand foot runway, passing things up and down as fast as we could. When we'd reach the point of no return, the driver would holler a code word and we'd hold onto the car as the plane pulled up and the car sped out into the desert. It took about a dozen passes to get all the equipment up and down into that plane, meaning about thiurty-six trips down the ruway each day. When you stop to consider the speed involved and the risks being taken, it just has to be that our guardian angels were up there pulling us through. (But then, I guess angels should be the best qualified for this kind of flying!)

With our two-way radio in operation, we were able to talk to the pilots anytime we wanted to whenever they were in the area, and we were also able to broadcast flight reports direct from the plane over KYUM.

Finally the day came for the big take-off, and half of the city of Yuma was at the field to partake of the excitement. Everything went fine, refueling runs worked perfectly, and we were on our way. But then, as will happen with anything mechanical, the engine started running hot and using a lot of oil. We came to the conclusion that it owuld be pretty dangerous if that motor missed a lick or two over the refueling car traveling at that speed. It was a heart-breaking decision, but we decided to bring the plane down. The mechanics went right to work. Finally they reported everything was "go" again, so after calling a general meeting, we decided to try again. We had gotten a limited amount of publicity on our take-off and also some mention when we brought the ship down after eighty hours.

The second attempt was more seccessful. We had stayed up one hundred and seventy hours when one of the magnetos started cutting out, leaving us no spare to cut in in case of emergency. So once more, with disapoointment in our hearts, we made the decision to bring the ship down. There was disappointment, true, but if you think by this time that crazy bunch at Yuma was ready to call it quits, you've got another think cloming. The third time was the clincher! The two pilots broke the world's endurance record for small planes by staying off this planet longer than any human beings before or since. {At least until the time this story was published in the 1970's. webmaster.}

They stayed in the air eleven hundred and twenty-four hours and seventeen minutes, or almost forty-seven days. It meant sixteen hundred and ninety-two refueling runs between that Buick and the airplane. Of course, with a project like this taking place, the tension and excitement of the population continued to grow. By the end of the seven weeks, not only the entire community of Yuma was engulfed in the project, but we were getting national and international publicity. As the boys stayed up longer and longer, people everywhere began to be interested. And once we had broken the old record of eight hundred hours, everyone wanted to know what would happen. Every morning at seven-thirty we would feed a show direct from the plane to the (statewide) Arizona Broadcasting System. As the news stories began piling up on the A.P. Service, more and more tourists would detour through Yuma to watch one of the refueling operations. We rigged up a pickup truck with bleacher seats in the back so that photographers could get pictures of the refueling, and reporters could get a first hand look at the operation. One of the prize shots every morning would be the last sweep of a refueling run when one of the pilots' wives would stand up on the refueling platform and her husband would lean out of the plane and plant a "good morning" kiss at a speed of eighty miles an hour!

Once the fever broke, and it became a distinct possibility that our boys were going to break the record, we brgan getting unbelievable press coverage. When we broke the eight hundred hour mark, we hit nearly every newspaper in the country. Life Magazine spent two days in Yuma, while congratulatory wires flocked in from all over the nation.

I had made a promise before the start of the event that if the record was broken I would get all of my hair cut off. I was doing my morning radio show when the barber walked into the studio and proceeded to cut every inch of hair off my head; and we broadcast the whole thing! We released the haircut story to the A.P. and it hit papers all over the country. The Chicago Tribune ran a picture of the plane in color on the front page the day we broke the old record. We continued to feed the statewide network from Yuma, and for the remainder of the flight, we did I don't know how many cut-ins to the full NBC network coast to coast.

Only once did the two pilots have a little scare. One pilot was sleeping while the other was piloting the plane. As anyone knows who has done much flying, the constant drone of the engine can almost mesmerize a person. Within minutes both pilots were asleep. When he suddenly wakened, he had no idea were they were. There were no visible lights, no landmarks, no nothing!

He immediately awakened his co-pilot and they started trying to figure out where they were. They didn't want to wander too far off course and perhaps miss a refueling run. Fortunately, it wasn't too long before dawn started to break and they started picking up landmarks. They figured that they had strayed down into Sonora, Mexico, just below Arizona. I guess from this you might call it an international flight!

Obviously the ship was not equipped with such modern conveniences as rest rooms like our giant airliners today. But the boys had little half-gallon ice cream containers which served the same purpose. To idle away the time, they would make "bombing runs" with them on stumps floating down the river.

We had subscribed to a clipping service, and, by the time we'd cracked that eight hundred hour record, we had hundreds of clippings coming in every day from all over the nation and many foreign countries. Some came all the way from Australia. Many of these clippings included pictures of the plane, with our painted slogans clearly readable. All this was accomplished without a cent of expense to the community. It just happened through the pride our citizens took in their city, KYUM and the news releases from the Yuma Daily Sun to the Associated Press.

After we went over the eight hundred hour mark, it was decided that we would stay in the air as long as men and machinery stayed together. The doctor reported that the men were in good shape and the airplane, although loosening up a bit, was performing well. As the hours passed, we realized that it was a tremendous responsibility to decide when we should order the plane down. The motor was getting a little rough and the controls were loosening up a bit. Then there was the ever present danger of the refueling runs.

Finally, after we'd gone over the eleven hundred hour mark, the pilots informed us that the motor was missing a lick here and there, as if the magneto might be jumping contact occasionally. We held a high level meeting and decided to bring the plane down at four o'clock the following afternoon. The press started scrambling to be there; the NBC network was keeping the public informed and a lot of local hurrying and scurrying went on around town. Most businesses announced that they would close for the big event. The influx of newsmen, sightseers, photographers, visitors, and what-have-you, started jamming the city. People flew in on their private planes; others came on buses, in cars, and even by train. By that night, every hotel room in Yuma was filled.

On October 10, 1949, at 3:25:05 p.m., our record-breaking little airplane hovered down the runway to make a perfect three point landing. As the two pilots stepped from the plane, their feet touched ground after the longest interval in history. It was a record which still stands for light aircraft (as of 1971). They were mobbed by the crowd like the heroes they were. Horns sounded, bells rang all over town, and if ever the old saying, "putting a city on the map" came true, it was certainly at that moment.

Both pilots came off none the worse for the wear. They came out with a slight loss of weight and had a little trouble sleeping the first couple of nights because of the quietness they were experiencing. But they were back at their jobs in a couple of days, and the people of Yuma went back to their daily tasks.

We had set out to accomplish something, and we had done it. We received publicity clippings from thirty-two foreign countries, hit dozens of national magazines and newsreels, and of course, there was great coverage given us by NBC radio. We probably hit every newspaper in the country, including another headline in the Chicago Tribune. A few months later the air base was reopened as Vincent Air Force Base.

True to their word, the Continental Motor people furnished us with a new motor and the ship was put back into its original condition as we had promised. Not long after we returned the plane to its owner, he sold it, and it was cracked up on a wheat farm in Kansas. But before that happened we put the plane in the Jaycee National Convention Parade in Chicago, and it rolled down Michigan Boulevard on a flatbed truck. Thus ended one of the greatest examples of community spirit and cooperation it has ever been my pleasure to be associated with. All it had taken was a great spirit among the people of Yuma, our little KYUM radio station to "flack" it around, and as Victor Hugo once said, "an idea whose time had come." A few years later both pilots appeared with Garry Moore on his program, "I've Got a Secret." They showed some of the film they had made during the flight.

If all the stories could be told about early day broadcasting, every broadcaster could have fascinating stories to relate. Radio certainly played an important role in every area entered.