Editor's Note: The stories of the first United States aircraft, center around the Wright Brothers and Glenn Curtiss. The Wright brothers did not like Curtiss, accusing him of stealing their ideas. The Wright Brothers were private people, withholding their great invention from publicity in the hopes for big money. Glen Curtiss was extroverted and active. As a motorcycle racer turned aviator, Curtiss pushed the state of aviation forward.

This great article illustrates the spirit of Glenn Curtiss.

The June Bug by Nelson A. Jackson

IN AUGUST, 1910, 1 was fortunate in being able to visit the Curtiss assembly and storage hangar located on Kingsley Field, near the bead of Lake Keuka at Hammondsport. N.Y.

The hangar, called by the workmen and natives the “crate”, was situated about 1,000 feet from the Lake shore. The lower part of the field sloped gradually to the water’s edge and made an ideal place for taking off for trial flights over the Lake.

By crowding the floor space and hanging other planes from cross pieces near the roof, six airplanes could be stored in the “crate.” The day of my visit, two machines were being assembled on the floor, two were suspended overhead, and one stood about 100 feet from the hangar, poised for flight.

Glenn Curtiss’ June Bug looks like a flying mousetrap today, but it was tops back in 1908.

One of the suspended planes was the June Bug. The sight gave me a great thrill. This was the epoch-making machine with which Glenn H. Curtiss, on July 4, 1908 had won the first flight leg for the Scientific American trophy. This was the first trophy ever awarded in the United States for an airplane flight.

The Curtiss airplane factory was on a hill back of the village, about one mile from the hangar. There most of the problems were worked out and mans’ new ideas were translated into models and tried for workability.

About one half mile down the valley from the lakefront and Kingsley Field was an abandoned half-mile race track. This was rented and conditioned for a flying field which was called “Stony Brook Farm.” This and Kingsley Field were the trial grounds for the early experimental flights.

As the work on the June Bug proceeded, everyone became enthusiastic about its design. It was the third wholly new machine to be built. In the case of the first one, the Red Wing, Lt. Seifridge had been the final arbiter in regard to all suggestions as to design; on the second, the White Wing, Casey Baldwin had made the final decisions; with the June Bug, Curtiss had the last word. This applied not only to the design but to the motor as well.

All of the discovered mistakes which had been made in the construction of the two previous machines were, in so far as possible, corrected in the June Bug.

Curtiss, in writing of this, the third machine, says, “Indeed it flew so well that we soon decided it was good enough to win the trophy which had been offered by The Scientific American for the first public flight of one kilometer, or five-eighths of a mile, straight away.” This trophy was to become the property of the man who won it three years in succession. The conditions were to be changed each year, in accordance with the progress of the science of aviation. After many trial flights, Curtiss was convinced that he could win the award. Accordingly, he made arrangements to fly for the trophy, July 4, 1908. In 1908, 1909, and 1910, Curtiss won the trophy; this gave him permanent possession. Some time after the successful flight of the June Bug, he was awarded Pilot’s License No. 1 by the Aero Club of America.

The morning of July 4, 1908, was windy, dull, cloudy, with a distinct threat of rain. However, the people of Hammondsport and vicinity were not deterred by the weather. They came by the hundreds, some as early as 5 o’clock; many brought their lunches and made themselves comfortable for the day. About noon the rain came. The crowd put up umbrellas or sought shelter under the trees, but they stayed. Late in the afternoon the rain ceased, and at about 7 P.M. everything was ready for the flight.

Curtiss, in describing the historic flight, says, “When I gave the word to ‘let go,’ the June Bug skimmed along over the old race track for perhaps two hundred feet and then rose gracefully into the air. I saw nothing except the course and the flag marking the distance of one kilometer. The flag was quickly reached and passed and still I kept the aeroplane up, flying as far as the open fields would permit. I might have gone a great deal farther, as the motor was working beautifully and I had the machine under perfect control, but to have prolonged the flight would have meant a turn in the air or passing over a number of large trees.”

The speed of this flight was computed to be 35 miles per hour. The official distance covered was 5,090 feet.

Flight commemorated on state road sign.

Curtiss passes over many of the heart breaking and almost insurmountable difficulties which he and his loyal assistants overcame. July 4, 1908, was a Saturday. On the Thursday of that week, the June Bug was rolled onto the Stony Brook Firm field for a try out. It would not rise from the ground. Gloom settled over the party. Lt. Selfridge discovered that the varnish on the fabric was filled with innumerable fine cracks. This rendered the material about as porous as it was before any varnish was put on. The air was thus going through—and not under—the wings. A fresh coat of varnish was applied at once.

On the morning of the third, the June Bug was once more ready for a flight. Although Curtiss realized that the flying conditions were not right, he yielded to the arguments of his friends. The machine took the air, but when it was about fifteen feet up, a current of air from one of the many nearby hillside ravines caught the plane and dashed it to the ground. Curtiss was uninjured, but the left wing of the plane was practically demolished. Someone said, “There goes the trophy.” Another asked if he should call New York and cancel the flight. Curtiss was too busy appraising the damage to heed the question. No message was sent. Men worked frantically all day. By 7:30 that evening the June Bug was once more ready to fly. This time the trial flight was a success, and everything was in readiness for the big event—which came off successfully.

Immediately after the success with the June Bug, a fourth plane, the Silver Dart, was started. This was under the supervision of McCurdy, a Canadian engineer. While this new machine was under construction, Curtiss was working out a plan for a hydroplane. He constructed two crude floats, which he attached near each end of the lower plane of the June Bug. He changed the name of the craft to The Loon.

In November of 1908, Curtiss fitted the June Bug with pontoons, tried to fly from Lake Keuka; but plane’s motor couldn’t lift it from the water.

The Loon was given many trials, but the pontoons were too heavy for the craft’s power, which was not sufficient to do more than just raise it off the surface of the water. The total weight of machine and pontoons was about 1,000 pounds. The greatest speed made was 25 miles per hour.

Curtiss designed and built not only his airplanes but the motors as well. The castings made from sketched plans were the only parts not made in his factories. The motors were V-shaped; the cylinders were made of aluminum and mounted on an iron crankcase. The first motors had four cylinders, which were soon increased to eight.

At the time of the June Bug flight, Curtiss had hoped to install a better and more powerful motor in the machine. It was not ready, so the motor from the “White Wing” was used. This was an eight-cylinder motorcycle engine of about 24 horsepower.

Machines built at the time of the June Bug had a wing span of about 30 feet; their width was about five feet. The over-all depth of the machine from the rectangular stabilizer and elevator in front to the cross-like rudder back of the engine was about eighteen feet. The total weight was from 800 to 1,000 pounds. The propeller was about six feet long and made of laminated spruce with ten or twelve plies.

I had made my trip to Hammondsport by steamer. On my return I asked the ship’s engineer, “Do you know Curtiss ?”

“Sure, I have known him all my life. Everybody around here knows and likes Glenn. He is a nervy cuss. You can’t scare him. He flew over me 23 times the other evening. He would sail down over the water so that the pontoons would skim the surface just enough to make the spray fly. He did it just as neat as a loon. It was a pretty sight.”

And for those days, it was.