This 1927 discussion on the use of metal in airplanes is extremely interesting in that it also predicts with uncanny accurracy how air travel would progress, and how modern aircraft would be constructed.
LONG-DISTANCE records will be held in future by high-flyers in all-metal airplanes. So at least predicts Albert Lapoule, in an article contributed to La Revue des Vivants (Paris). In it he sets forth his reasons for this belief and explains in detail what it all may mean, and what modifications will be necessary in present practises. Recent attempts of French and American aviators, Mr. Lapoule reminds us, have made the question of long-distance flight one of present interest.
In 1920 Rateau established a formula for calculating the possible distance of flight as a function of the weight of the plane at its start and finish, the power of the screw, the fuel consumption of the motor and the shape of the wings. The results given by this formula have already been exceeded, we are told, because each of the elements that entered into it has been improved; and Breguet, who took up the problem again recently looked forward to the possibility of a maximum flight of 12,000 miles. We read further:
This depends only on the distance that can be traversed before the gasoline gives out, to which must be added the gliding distance after the motor stops running. The plane, in fact, finds itself, at the end of its course, at a height of five or six miles, and the gliding distance amounts to over eight times this height. This question of height takes on greater importance as the length of the flights increase. It is not improbable that very long flights will in future take place in the upper regions of the atmosphere. It is in this way that the Germans succeeded in the long-distance gun-fire that surprized us during the war. When we exceed six miles in height, the great obstacle to speed, which is air-resistance, considerably lessens. Three hundred miles an hour can be reached, and the trip from Paris to New York will require only twelve hours. Perhaps also aviators will then be less exposed to the atmospheric disturbances that have cost so many lives. We are unfortunately very far from this at present; and the Paris-Djask flight of Coste and Rignot was made between 5,000 and 9,000 feet. A height of 12,000 feet has been quite exceptional.
The problem is much more complex than for a projectile, for it involves a self-propelling machine carrying living beings. The fuel-supply of the motor in a rarefied atmosphere has received two solutions in France. The first is to adapt the air to the motor, by compressing it before admission, as in Rateau’s turbo-compressor. The second fits the motor to the atmosphere by varying the course of the pistons in the cylinders. This has been practically realized by Louis Damblanc.
The transportation of human beings under such circumstances is a more delicate matter. Nothing prevents us from imagining an interior compartment, since Lindbergh traveled in one; it will be completely air-tight and will contain air at normal pressure. But for a long trip the air will have to be renewed with a compressor automatically regulated so as to keep the pressure in the cabin constant. Thus there will be no danger from leakage, through doorways, for instance.
HURTLING THROUGH THE AIR at the rate of almost five miles a minute, a twenty-seven-year-old British flight lieutenant won the coveted Schneider trophy for seaplanes at Venice on September 26. Only two planes of the six competing were able to finish the 217-mile triangular course, and both were English entries. All three Italian competitors, including Major de Bernardi, winner of the event last year, were forced by engine trouble to abandon the race.
THE modern social dance is of distinctly recent growth. It is as yet in an embryonic state. Eventually it will yield to one or the other of the two forces that have molded and controlled all dancing from Adam’s time, first the effect on the dancer and second the effect on the audience.
The originator of the Fadeaway Girl is not of the long-haired, flowing bow-tie variety of artists, but prides himself on his practicality and enjoys having his friends call him “sane and business-like,” which he is. He lives in New Rochelle, the New York suburb which now has another claim to fame than the fact that it is “Forty-Five Minutes from Broadway,” and there in his studio overlooking Long Island Sound, with his slender, sweet-faced wife as a model, he does much of his best work. For the wife of C. Coles Phillips is the inspiration of the art that has made him famous. America has opened wide her arms to welcome this new creation. The Coles Phillips Girl typifies the subtle charm of American womanhood. In the drawing-room or in the kitchen, breaking hearts or baking pies, or sturdily joying in the mighty stillness of the great outdoors, always alluring, always at home, a real woman from the tip of her dainty boot to the soft glory of her hair, she stands out from her flat background and answers completely to a young man’s fancy at its highest and best.