On Sept. 16, 1934, my mother, Mabel Weyand, and her parents, Charles and Carrie Forrester, boarded a train at Medill, MO, for Chicago to attend the Century of Progress International Exposition, a spectacular fair that had begun the year before. The special round-trip fare, offered by the Santa Fe Railroad, was $5.45 per person

Mabel and her parents needed the low fare, as the Great Depression was in full swing in 1934. The Forresters lived in Kahoka, where Charlie was a rural mail carrier. My parents lived on a farm a few miles to the west, where my dad raised beef cattle along with corn, soybeans and other crops, but money was tight. To stretch their meager resources, my mother had been giving piano lessons to neighboring youngsters, and had recently begun raising chickens for extra “egg money.”

Before she and her parents left for the fair, Mabel wrote in her diary that she had canned many quarts of tomatoes and other vegetables. The well-stocked shelves in their basement would keep them virtually self-sufficient during the winter months ahead.

Besides the reduced train cost, they also would save money on lodgings in Chicago, as they would be staying at the home of one of my mother’s college friends on Wabash Avenue. My mother was familiar with the city, as she had lived there between Chautauqua gigs during the 1920s, working as an usher in a couple of theaters, and clerking in a department store.

The Century of Progress International Exposition commemorated Chicago’s centennial, and was a true World’s Fair, with international exhibits. Its theme was technological innovation, and major corporations exhibited the latest in rail and automotive travel and household conveniences. One of the highlights was the Sky Ride, a bridge that enabled fair-goers to travel from one side of the fair to another. When the exposition ended in November, attendance exceeded 48 million, making it the first World’s Fair to pay for itself.

Cover of Santa Fe brochure with special rates and schedules

Fifth Day

On the fifth day, Mabel reported they “saw the violin Heifetz took first lesson on in the Hall of States.” She called the Florida Building & Gardens “loveliest of them all.” They ate orange sherbet on a “rainy afternoon,” and visited the Hall of Science “between showers.”

They toured the Travel & Transport Building on the sixth day, and “saw Barney Oldfield on the proving ground,” then saw glass works and a model home. Later, they saw “Firestone Singing Fountains, Hungarian Bazaar,” and topped off the day with a fireworks show in the evening.

Sunday, they attended church at the Hyde Park United Church, and heard “fine music.” After having dinner with their hosts, they went back to the Exposition and saw the “Japanese Building of 1893 Fair restoration,” and ended the day “taking a walk” around their host’s neighborhood.

On the eighth day, Mabel said she “went downtown this morning on the surface car” and went shopping at Sears, Carson Pirie’s and the Davis Store.”
There was more shopping on the ninth day. She went downtown on the streetcar and bought some upholstery fabric at the basement store at Marshall Fields, then had lunch at the Crystal Buffet on the seventh floor. Later, she and her parents visited Lincoln Park.
On Sept. 26, the trio went to the Dearborn Station and boarded the 10:20 a.m. Santa Fe train for their return home, arriving late that afternoon. My dad met them at the station in Medill.
Then it was back to the farm for Mother. Along with regular housework, she resumed canning the bounty of vegetables from their large garden. And I have no doubt her piano pupils would hear many stories about the Century of Progress Exhibition.

Flying in an open-cockpit biplane is a forgotten part of our history. It was an era when pilots flew “tail-dragger” aircraft from grass strips and navigated by following railroads and section lines. One company near Excelsior Springs, MO, helps you experience it again.

Outlaw Aviation ? more conservative and law-abiding than its name implies ? lets clients roar through Midwest skies in a vintage biplane. Its aircraft is a Stearman ? officially a PT-17 Boeing Super Stearman ? a derivative of the model used as a Navy trainer before and during World War II.

At war’s end, many of the aircraft were auctioned, beginning new careers as crop dusters, transportation for movie stars, or toys for wealthy eccentrics. Others went to air shows as aerobatic performers. Moviegoers saw a Stearman, converted to a crop duster, attacking Cary Grant in the 1959 Alfred Hitchcock movie, North By Northwest.

Lee Crouch, owner of Outlaw Aviation, offers rides in the Stearman, with rates for one or two persons. However, only one passenger at a time can be accommodated in the two-place biplane. Crouch is one of only a few entrepreneurs who offer that kind of service. Crouch soloed at age 16. He has nearly 30 years of aviation experience under his belt, having been an Alaskan bush pilot, as well as a captain for a major jet operator. Since he began offering Stearman rides 10 years ago, Crouch has helped more than 500 people experience open-cockpit flying.

Outlaw Aviation’s “Super Stearman” ready to fly (Ken Weyand photo)

Crouch’s biplane, built in 1941, differs from the original Navy trainer in several ways. “Basically it’s got a more powerful engine,” Crouch said. “It was built by Boeing after the company took over the original Stearman operation in Wichita.” Crouch said Boeing built 13,000 airplanes, with 7,000 used for training and 6,000 for spares. “My biplane trained pilots in Texas, then became a crop duster between 1996 and 2001. Later, more than 7,000 man-hours went into restoring and updating the aircraft.” Modifications improved the biplane’s aerodynamic qualities.

Crouch said the Stearman is ideal for air shows. In addition to giving 20-minute rides, his company offers an “old school barnstorming smoke and noise air show,” and calls the Stearman “the ultimate air show machine.”

Crouch said most rides are purchased as Christmas gifts ? usually redeemed in the spring, but also are given throughout the year. “It’s the ultimate gift for any aviation enthusiast,” he said. “I tailor the ride to the individual, and the whole family is invited to come to the airport, take photographs, and watch the flight.” For details, visit www.flyoutlaw.com.

The Stearman in flight (Outlaw Aviation photo)

A reporter takes a flight

My daughter, Holly, and her friend Sean, gave me an Outlaw Aviation flight for my birthday several months ago. Other things got in the way, including the summer heat wave, and I decided to take the flight in early September. I made the appointment, and drove to Midwest National Air Center, an airport near Mosby, northeast of Kansas City.

Lee Crouch and the Stearman soon appeared on the tarmac. After taking care of the necessary paperwork, Lee and I walked to the biplane and he gave me a short briefing. My “floppy hat” and sunglasses weren’t suitable for the flight, and I opted for a pair of flying goggles and a leather safety helmet. Then it was time to board.

“This is the most dangerous part of the flight,” Crouch said, as he showed me the part of the wing that served as a step, and the handholds on the upper wing center section. The procedure was simple: stand on the “step area,” grab the handholds, lift your right leg above the cockpit and onto the seat, then pull yourself to an upright position using the hand-holds, and lower yourself into the seat. “Take your time,” he said. I entered the cockpit with no problems.

He secured me in the cockpit with safety harness, told me where to place my feet (out of the way of the rudder pedals and joystick) fitted me with a pair of headphones, and advised me about the push-to-talk feature on the attached microphone. “It gets a bit noisy,” he said.

Stearman trainers in flight at NAS Flight School, Pensacola, FL, 1936 (U.S. Navy photo, courtesy Wikipedia)

He started the Stearman’s mighty 450-hp engine, taxied to the end of the runway, and warmed up the engine. When he applied power, we roared down the asphalt strip, and were quickly airborne.

Although I had been a pilot in the 1960s and ’70s, my flights in small trainers and other private aircraft didn’t offer the excitement of the open-cockpit Stearman with its burly power. The air was a little bumpy, but Lee handled the controls smoothly, and we took a low-level tour of rural Clay County north of the river, including a brief pass over a small airstrip. Then we headed toward the Missouri River and Lee dipped the wings to let me scout a kayaking location I had requested to spot from the air.

Our flight was comparatively “straight and level,” but at one point Lee executed a smooth barrel roll, giving me a taste of inverted flight. It was an added bonus, although I hadn’t chosen an available aerobatics upgrade. “This plane really likes to fly inverted,” he told me later.

Then we approached the field, flew a short base-leg and touched down on the runway. When I exited the plane, it felt like a natural process. My “biplane experience” had been exhilarating.