Walter Beech and the “Pineapple Derby”

Three months after “Lucky Lindy” landed in Paris, eight airplanes took off
from California westbound toward Hawaii in a free-for-all race to win $25,000.
Two of those airplanes were built by Travel Air, thanks to company
CEO Walter Beech’s optimism that at least one would win the prize.

Hawaii – sun, surf and hula girls. Although known as the Territory of Hawaii in 1927, the four scenic islands 2,400 miles from the West Coast were becoming increasingly popular as America’s new-found playground. Only four days after airmail pilot Charles A. Lindbergh landed his Ryan “NYP” in Paris on May 21 of that year, Hawaiian pineapple entrepreneur James Dole offered the stunning sum of $25,000 to the first commercial airplane to fly nonstop from the mainland to the U.S. Army’s Wheeler Field near Honolulu. The second place winner would receive $10,000. The offer, however, was valid for only one year from the starting date of August 12.

Prior to Dole issuing his challenge, however, two airplanes and their brave crews already had made successful flights from California. The first was the Army’s Atlantic C-2 monoplane flown by Lieutenants Lester Maitland and Albert Hegenberger. They departed California on June 28 and landed at Wheeler the next day. The second ship to make the crossing was the first Travel Air Type 5000 monoplane built. It was piloted by Ernest Smith accompanied by navigator Emory Bronte. The aviators took off from Oakland, California, on July 14 and crash-landed the City of Oakland in some trees on the island of Molokai the following day. Although they were the first civilian airmen to span the vast waters between California and Hawaii, their trusty Travel Air and its Wright Whirlwind static, air-cooled radial engine were badly damaged almost to the point of being beyond economical repair.

In the wake of Dole’s announcement, Walter Beech and the Travel Air Manufacturing Company received 17 requests for custom-built airplanes to compete in the race. During the summer of 1927, the factory was humming with activity as workers struggled to build airplanes already on order by other customers. President Beech, along with the board of directors, sifted carefully through the mountain of requests for a racing Travel Air. A majority of the applicants were quickly dismissed because of their obvious inability to pay or distinct lack of flying experience for such a risky endeavor.

Among the serious contenders, however, was one Arthur C. Goebel, a California-based pilot employed by National Pictures, Inc. The 31-year old aviator had learned to fly in 1920 at the famous Clover Field in Santa Monica and had earned an excellent reputation as a competent and savvy pilot. After being seduced by “race fever,” he had been busy evaluating various aircraft that were potentially suitable for the contest, but he eventually decided that the Type 5000 Travel Air Transport monoplane was the best candidate. “Art,” as he was known to his friends and colleagues, visited the Travel Air facility in mid-June. After five days of in-depth discussions with Walter Beech and other officials, it was decided that Mr. Goebel would get his Travel Air. To initiate construction, he signed a contract and plunked down the required deposit of $5,000. Despite a tight timeline for entering the race, Beech estimated the ship would be ready by early August.¹

Goebel was one of two applicants that succeeded in convincing Beech to build them an airplane. The other was Benny H. Griffin and Al Henley, who signed their contract and another check for $5,000 for a second Type 5000 late in June. Both of the

airplanes would receive modifications to the airframe that centered chiefly on the installation of large fuel tanks holding more than 400 gallons of aviation gasoline. In addition, a larger oil tank was installed to keep the Wright J-5 static, air-cooled radial engine lubricated properly during the 2,400-mile flight. Both airplanes were further modified to accommodate a space for the navigator in the aft cabin amidst the extra fuel tanks. Travel Air’s chief engineer, Horace E. Weihmiller, supervised the alterations.

Goebel had originally planned to fly solo, but race rules required a navigator. Fortunately for Goebel, his friend and fellow pilot D.W. “Tommy” Tomlinson suggested Lieutenant William V. Davis for the job. A 1924 graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy, Davis was trained in celestial and marine navigation and was familiar with the operation of radio equipment that Goebel planned to install in the Type 5000 before the race began. As for Griffin, he had an excellent navigator in Al Henley, who had accumulated 10 years of valuable flying and navigation experience in the U.S. Army Air Corps.

With both monoplanes under construction, the only question that remained unanswered was how to pay the $15,000 balance due upon completion of each ship. Griffin had obtained partial funding from four prominent businessmen in Oklahoma, but he also sought help from Frank Phillips, an oil magnate from Bartlesville, Oklahoma, and president of the Phillips Petroleum Company. Similarly, Goebel had limited financial support from friends in California, but eventually he, too, turned to Frank Phillips for help. Phillips agreed to pay off both monoplanes with the stipulation that Art’s airplane carry the name “WOOLAROC” emblazoned on both sides of the fuselage. The name Woolaroc was an acronym for the topography of “woods, lakes and rocks” that dominated Phillips’ ranch near Bartlesville. Griffin’s Travel Air would be dubbed “OKLAHOMA,” also painted on the fuselage.

Travel Air assigned serial number 10 to the Oklahoma, but no official record exists regarding a factory serial number for the Woolaroc. Department of Commerce records state only that it was later assigned serial number 1000 by the Phillips

Petroleum Company. The fuselage and wings of both airplanes were painted Travel Air blue and orange, respectively. On July 29, Griffin’s monoplane rolled out of Travel Air’s new factory on East Central Avenue, its rudder bearing the registration NX911, followed on August 2 by Goebel’s ship registered NX869. Both monoplanes were test-flown by Clarence Clark and deemed ready for delivery. Soon after acceptance, both pilots flew their ships to Bartlesville so Frank Phillips could see what he had paid for, and then the two Travel Airs headed west to the jumping-off point at the airport in Oakland, California.

After arrival, Goebel’s airplane was fitted with the same radio set used by Maitland and Hegenberger on their flight to Hawaii. A few of the aircraft were equipped with earth inductor compasses and radio equipment that would help them make the dangerous journey across 2,400 miles of unforgiving Pacific Ocean, but others were hopelessly ill-equipped for such an arduous undertaking. As a result, some were disqualified, others withdrew and a few airplanes had been wrecked enroute to Oakland. Frank Phillips had shipped 20 barrels of the company’s recently-developed “Nu-Aviation” fuel to Oakland for the exclusive use of the two Travel Air entrants, and the gasoline was a closely guarded asset. When straws were drawn to determine the takeoff sequence, only eight airplanes remained in what had been dubbed the “Pineapple Derby” by the press. Benny Griffin won the first takeoff slot and Goebel drew the seventh spot.

On the morning of August 16, the “Oklahoma” was pushed to the starting line. When the starter’s flag dropped, Griffin gunned the 200-hp Wright radial powerplant and the heavily-laden monoplane slowly accelerated down the two-mile long dirt runway. After rolling about 3,000 feet, the ship lifted slowly into the air. The Dole race was finally underway. Thousands of spectators, some anticipating that one or more airplanes may crash on takeoff, watched as the “Oklahoma” gradually disappeared to the west. Next in line was the Breese “El Encanto” cabin monoplane piloted by Norman Goddard. During the takeoff roll, he lost control as the ship entered a gradual ground-loop to the right, coming to rest on its left fuselage side. The right wing was pointing upward in a mournful farewell salute to those who would dare to follow. Next in line to depart was the “Pabco Pacific Flyer,” but it was forced to abort and would attempt another takeoff later. The Lockheed “Golden Eagle” was next and easily took to the sky, followed by the Buhl Air Sedan “Miss Doran” and the Breese “Aloha.” Waiting impatiently, Art Goebel finally taxied the “Woolaroc” into position and awaited the signal to take off.²

When the flag dropped, Art advanced the throttle and the Wright J-5CA engine roared to full power, blue flames licking the tips of the exhaust stacks as the ship gathered speed. In a demonstration of his flying skill and the Travel Air’s generous rudder area, Goebel easily kept the Travel Air heading straight down the runway. He waited patiently for sufficient lift from the wings before easing the stick forward to lift the tail, and then aft as the monoplane left terra firma and began a slow, laborious climb westward. The Woolaroc was on its way to Honolulu. One of the anxious observers of the takeoff was Walter Beech. A week before the race began he had flown a Travel Air Type 4000 biplane to Oakland to supervise detailed preparation of Griffin and Goebel’s airplanes, applying his detailed attention to both airplanes.

About one hour after departing, the Oklahoma suddenly hove into view from the west and landed safely despite the heavy fuel load. Griffin reported that the engine was “running hot” and blamed the Nu-Aviation fuel for his withdraw from the contest. Meanwhile, the Woolaroc was proceeding on course thanks to the low-frequency navigation signal transmitted by the Army. It would offer reliable guidance only for the initial portion of the journey. Although the radio receiver/transmitter was working well, Davis would eventually have to rely increasingly on long-established celestial and marine navigation techniques during the day and throughout the night until they could receive an incoming navigation signal from Hawaii the next morning.

As the sun retreated and daylight slowly dissolved into darkness, Davis prepared to take the first of many nighttime observations of the stars. Using a celestial sextant, he carefully held the instrument in a level position before taking a reading on a reference star. He would repeat the reading a number of times for accuracy, always checking to be certain the sextant was level (a bubble, similar to that used in a carpenter’s level, was an integral part of the device and was illuminated by a battery). The average reading of a star’s height and its bearing from the airplane gave Davis the Woolaroc’s approximate position above the earth’s surface. Taking the readings was easy when the air was calm, but in turbulence or if the observer was buffeted by the slipstream, the procedure was more difficult. Because Davis was located far behind the cockpit and isolated from Goebel by the extra fuel tanks, the two men devised a string and pulley telegraph system to communicate throughout the flight. Based on the observations taken with the sextant, Davis would write down the information and suggest new compass headings to remain as close as possible to the pre-planned course.

To help him guide the Woolaroc toward Hawaii, Davis referred to the Great Circle route he laid out for the flight. Great Circle routes were commonly used for long-distance flying, particularly over a large expanse of water such as the Pacific Ocean (Lindbergh had used a Great Circle route for his flight to Paris). Initially, Goebel flew a heading of 250 degrees. As the hours passed during the night, Davis telegraphed Goebel minor changes in heading. The Woolaroc’s pilot occasionally disagreed with his navigator, but better judgment prevailed and Art dutifully complied with the course changes.

Another concern throughout the flight was the effect of the upper winds on the airplane’s position. Winds aloft could easily blow the airplane off course, particularly during the night hours when Davis had no way to observe the waves below. Any deviation of the monoplane’s path across the earth’s surface could adversely affect accurate navigation. To help compensate for the wind, white stripes had been painted across the airplane’s horizontal stabilizer and elevators at various angles such as 10-, 20-, 30- and 45-degrees.

Fatigue was another adversary. Goebel and Davis both fought to stay awake as the Woolaroc droned its way across the ocean at an average speed of 93 mph. As the monoplane cruised along, Goebel appreciated the fact that the only thing keeping him from an unwanted swim in the cold Pacific was the reassuring roar of the nine-cylinder Wright radial engine (all eight of the contestants that day were flying behind a Wright “Whirlwind” engine and were counting on its rugged reliability to keep them in the air). As a result, Art kept a constant vigil on the powerplant’s vital signs, and after midnight he climbed the ship to 6,000 feet to stay above a layer of stratus clouds.

Finally, the long-awaited dawn arrived as the sun lifted itself above the eastern horizon, now far behind the Travel Air. As soon as he could see the waves below, Davis set to work taking readings of the sun’s position and checking to see if the wind had blown the aircraft far off course during the night. It was essential that he determined the airplane’s position expeditiously and make any necessary course corrections. Sighting the sun would determine the Travel Air’s position relative to longitude. As for drift, Davis tossed smoke bombs out the navigator’s compartment window. When it hit the water, he observed which way the smoke was being blown.

Based on that information, he estimated the wind’s effect on the airplane and computed a new heading to compensate. Fortunately, the northeasterly winds aloft from a Pacific high pressure area proved accurate and gave the Woolaroc a slight tailwind that increased groundspeed to nearly 100 mph. As the sun rose higher, Davis continued to make sightings and drift checks. He verified that the winds aloft were shifting to the east and then the southeast, and telegraphed Art to make a slight heading change farther to the south. The pilot quickly telegraphed back that he thought the Naval officer was wrong, but Davis insisted otherwise. Goebel relented and steered the Travel Air to the left. In addition, the radio was beginning to receive the low-frequency navigation signal from Hawaii, boosting his confidence that they were at last nearing their goal.

It is important to note today’s King Air pilots accustomed to using WAAS, radar, ADS-B and a host of ground- and space-based navigation tools to guide them with exceptional accuracy to their destination, may find Davis’s techniques almost comical, but using only dead-reckoning to find Hawaii in 1927 was no laughing matter. With only the sun and stars to guide them for a majority of the flight, Davis and Goebel could ill afford to make a mistake in navigation. An error in position of merely two or three degrees could spell the difference between finding the islands and missing them entirely, probably with fatal consequences.

The Woolaroc had been in the air for more than 24 hours when a tired Art Goebel sighted what he thought was a murky cloud on the distant horizon. He kept an eagle eye on that “cloud” and soon realized that it was not a cloud but land! Art notified Davis that he hoped what he saw in front of them was Hawaii. It was, in fact, the island of Maui. Suddenly, the big question that ran through their minds was whether they were the first to reach the goal, or second, or even third? Their minds begged for an answer as Maui began to fill the windshield. Soon they were flying over Molokai and eventually spotted the famous shape of Diamond Head on the island of Oahu.

As the Woolaroc flew past Hawaii’s most famous landmark in search of Wheeler Field, an Army Boeing PW-9 biplane fighter appeared off the left wingtip and tucked into close formation with the Travel Air. The pilot was signaling something with one hand but neither Goebel nor Davis could understand it. Seeing no reaction from Goebel or Davis, the pilot gradually brought the nimble Boeing very close to the Travel Air and made his message very clear – he was smiling and holding up one finger – a clear indication that they were first to arrive! It appeared that the Woolaroc may win the Dole race, but Goebel still had to find and land on Wheeler Field to claim the $25,000 prize.³

Fortunately, the PW-9 guided him directly to the Army airfield. By that time, thanks to local radio stations that were following the race, news of the Woolaroc’s sighting had spread across Honolulu. The military field was quickly overrun with hundreds of people eager to see the intrepid aviators. With the dirt runway in sight, Art settled the Woolaroc on final approach. The monoplane gently touched down on Hawaiian soil after a flight that had lasted 26 hours, 17 minutes and 33 seconds, consuming 317 gallons of Phillips Petroleum Company’s Nu-Aviation fuel en route to victory.

“The two men climbed down, their legs a little wobbly, their voices sounding strange, both of them not quite willing to believe they won until they looked around to be sure none of the other airplanes were there. They stood for a moment, hemmed in by the crowd, both Goebel and Davis repeating foolishly, “Oh boy! We did it! We did it!”⁴ The cheering throngs crowded around the men and their Travel Air as the Wheeler Field band played military marches, then the exhausted duo was led to a flag-draped platform and formally greeted by none other than James Dole himself, along with Hawaii Governor Farrington and members of the race committee. Goebel and Davis each received $7,500 and financial supporters of the Woolaroc claimed the remaining $10,000 of the first-place prize money.

The faithful Travel Air monoplane and its trusty Wright J-5CA engine were eventually shipped back to the California on board the steamship “Monoa.” In the autumn of 1927, the now-famous Travel Air was reassembled, inspected and checked before being flown by Goebel on a farewell tour of selected cities. In October, Art flew the airplane back to Wichita and was welcomed enthusiastically by large crowds. During his visit, he laid the cornerstone for Factory “B” of the expanding Travel Air factory complex, turned the first spade of dirt for Clyde V. Cessna’s new factory across town on Franklin Avenue, and helped dedicate Lloyd C. Stearman’s manufacturing facility north of the city. Reflecting on the Dole Race and the role Travel Air had played in that contest, Walter H. Beech recalled that back in June he was surprised that a young Arthur Goebel declined to choose paint colors for the Woolaroc – he simply left it up to Mr. Beech.

After completing the farewell tour, the ship was in dire need of a complete overhaul in preparation for Art’s proposed attempt to set an endurance record with the airplane. That idea, however, was soon dis-missed and in February 1928 the monoplane was flown by Clarence Clark to Arkansas City, Kansas, where it was placed in temporary storage. It remained there until August when Goebel resurrected the ship from its seven-month slumber and flew it back to California. It was placed on static display in Los Angeles while Art was setting a west-east transcontinental record of 18 hours, 58 minutes flying a sleek Lockheed “Vega” monoplane. Frank Phillips, however, informed Goebel that he wanted the Dole race winner to garner more publicity for Phillips Petroleum Company, and one way Art thought he could comply was by transforming the airplane into a “slicked-up speedster.”

When he approached Walter Beech about Travel Air performing the modifications, Beech and his engineering staff were less than enthusiastic but agreed to tackle the task. They made it clear to Art that the monoplane was designed as a transport

and was inherently unsuitable for modification into a “hot” ship. Goebel was unconvinced, and early in November he flew the ship from Los Angeles to Wichita where it underwent a series of major alterations that Goebel hoped would make it the fastest Type 5000 ever built. He planned to enter it in cross-country races that would prove highly lucrative if he could win, and the key to winning was speed. To reduce drag, workers in the experimental shop dismantled the cockpit entirely, removing the canopy, pilot seat, rudder pedals, instrument panel and all flight control cables. Fuel tanks were installed in the cockpit area that, when added to the existing tanks, provided a total capacity of 600 gallons. The navigator compartment where Davis had skillfully guided the ship across 2,400 miles of unforgiving ocean was transformed into a cramped cockpit. To power the born-again Travel Air, a 400-hp Pratt & Whitney “Wasp” static, air-cooled radial engine was installed, fitted with “bayonet-type” exhaust stacks that were thought to generate a very slight thrust when the engine was at full power.

Late in November the ship was completed and ready for test flights. Art arrived at the factory and carefully inspected the airplane. Every effort had been made to reduce parasitic drag, including the landing gear that was redesigned to present less resistance to the air. It was time for the maiden flight. Goebel fired up the Wasp powerplant, taxied to the runway and took off without incident. Flying a Model 4000 biplane, Walter Beech took off to fly formation with Goebel and observe the airplane, but he quickly discovered he could not keep up with Art and his speedster. Goebel immediately discovered that visibility from the aft cockpit was severely limited.

That flaw became painfully apparent when he tried to land. Forward visibility was zero. The airplane hit the sod runway hard, bounced back into the air, hit hard again and bounced a second time before Art fed in power and avoided a stall. He finally managed to get the temperamental Woolaroc on the ground undamaged. After the excitement of the landing, Art wanted more changes. Beech ordered his men to make the side windows larger, which did slightly improve forward visibility. Goebel was anxious to take off for New York, and after a second test hop he bade Travel Air farewell and headed east.

As he was flying over St. Louis, Missouri, in the dark of night he searched in vain for Scott Airport, where he planned to refuel. Failing to locate it, he flew around until he spotted another suitable airport near the city. Still fighting poor forward visibility that was greatly complicated by nighttime conditions, Art landed the ship safely but failed to see a ditch. The Travel Air abruptly lurched and came to rest with a damaged landing gear. The next few days were spent performing repairs. The next time Goebel took off he was headed back to Wichita, but the Woolaroc had one more scare in store for its master. Flying along in a misty fog on the west side of St. Louis, Art barely missed a water tower that suddenly flashed by, barely missing the left wingtip. It was the final straw. Goebel landed at Travel Air Field on December 1, 1928, and informed Frank Phillips that the airplane was no longer safe to fly. Phillips accepted Art’s verdict and the old monoplane was retired – permanently.

Frank Phillips, however, was keenly aware of the Woolaroc’s historic significance and paid Carl and Guy Winstead, two of Wichita’s most skillful mechanics, to restore the ship to its configuration in the Dole race. After restoration it was flown to Arkansas City and placed in a hangar. In 1929, the airplane was removed from storage, inspected and made ready for a short flight to the Phillips ranch near Bartlesville, Oklahoma. By 1930, it had been placed on static display in a building on Phillip’s ranch. In 1980, it was moved to a large garage that had once housed automobiles and served as a bunkhouse for ranch hands, but the facility was woefully inappropriate for such a famous flying machine. In 1985 the old monoplane underwent a thorough restoration and the Woolaroc Museum on Phillips’ estate was expanded specifically to display the airplane.⁵

In addition to the Woolaroc, only one other Travel Air Type 5000 monoplane exists. It served with National Air Transport from 1927-1930 flying passengers on the Chicago-Dallas route before being gifted to Fort Worth aviation pioneer Amon Carter. In 2013-2014, it underwent a complete restoration and is on static display in downtown Fort Worth, Texas.⁶

Footnotes:

1. Phillips, Edward H.: “Travel Air – Wings Over the Prairie;” Flying Books, Publishers and Wholesalers, Eagan, Minnesota; 1982.

2. Forden, Leslie: “Glory Gamblers – The Story of the Dole Race”; The Nottingham Press, Alameda, California; Second edition, 1986.

3. Ibid.

4. Ibid.

5. Meek, Ken: Woolaroc Museum, Bartlesville, Oklahoma; conversations and correspondence, November/December 2014. To read more about the Woolaroc go to www.woolaroc.org.

6. To read more about the Amon Carter Travel Air Transport go to http:facmuseum.org/travel_air_5000_saveaplane.aspx.

Aftermath

Of the eight airplanes that took off from Oakland on August 16, 1927, four soon returned to the airport and were out of the race, but another four managed to get airborne to begin the long journey toward Hawaii. These included the Woolaroc, Golden Eagle, Miss Doran and Aloha. Two hours after Art Goebel and William Davis arrived at Wheeler Field, pilot Martin Jensen and navigator Paul Schulter landed the Aloha to claim second place and $10,000.

The other two airplanes disappeared somewhere over the Pacific Ocean. No trace of the Lockheed or Buhl were ever found, despite a massive, week-long search that involved 40 ships of the U.S. Navy. The vessels swept 540,000 square miles of sea between the Farallon Islands and points 50 miles north and south of the Hawaiian Islands. A third airplane, the Swallow Dallas Spirit, was lost attempting to search for the others after taking off from Oakland on Friday, August 19. The death toll for the race came to 10, including the pretty 22-year old, sixth-grade school teacher from Michigan, Mildred Doran. In addition, five airplanes were wrecked and thousands of dollars lost by financial supporters of the various contestants.

As for Art Goebel, he went on to more fame and fortune setting speed records and operating a flight school in Kansas City, Missouri. During World War II, he flew military transports in the Army Air Forces and retired with the rank of colonel. He died in December 1973, at age 78. His companion aboard the Woolaroc, Navy Lieutenant William V. Davis, Jr., had a distinguished career as a naval officer. He commanded Torpedo Squadron Five onboard the aircraft carrier U.S.S. Yorktown during the war and later served as captain of the carrier U.S.S. Franklin D. Roosevelt.

After the war, Davis was appointed commanding officer of the Navy’s Patuxent River test facility in Maryland, and later became Deputy Chief of Naval Operations and Deputy Commander of the Atlantic Fleet. In 1949, Davis was the second naval aviator to fly faster than the speed of sound when he piloted the experimental research Douglas D-558 “Skyrocket.” His final assignment was Executive Director of the battleship U.S.S. Alabama (BB-60) that is permanently moored at Battleship Park in Mobile, Alabama. Davis died in July 1981. He also wrote his own account of the Dole Race entitled, “Long Trail with No Dust.”