IMAGE EXTRACTED FROM MICROFILM BY GREG HAND
Ohio license plates proclaim the Buckeye State as the “Birthplace of Aviation.” Had fate turned out differently, that sobriquet could have applied to Cincinnati. Over the years, several Cincinnati tinkerers tried unsuccessfully to loft a heavier-than-air craft.
As far back as 1834, a Cincinnati resident named Albert Masson constructed a vehicle he described as an “aerial steam boat.” According to a writer signed only as “J.L.” (possibly John Laughlin, secretary of the Ohio Mechanics Institute), in the Liberty Hall and Cincinnati Gazette newspaper [3 July 1834]:
“The boat is about ten feet long; the ribs being covered in silk, in order to render it very light. – The engine, of two horse power, is placed in the middle, and turns four vertical shafts projecting over the bow and stern, into each of which are fixed 4 spiral silken wings, which are made to revolve with a sufficient velocity to cause the vessel to rise.”
According to “J.L.”, the entire apparatus weighed about 60 pounds and Mr. Masson intended to fly the contraption on July 4 – the very next day. At the time of publication, the aerial steam boat was on display “on Race street, nearly opposite the old Lath Factory, below Third street.”
Mr. Masson did not go airborne on Independence Day and, in August, his flying machine was on earthbound display at the Commercial Exchange. The Daily Cincinnati Republican reported, “There is nothing of the balloon principle connected to the apparatus.” and that it was “a beautiful and ingenious piece of mechanism.”
As beautiful and ingenious as it was, the aerial steam boat appears not to have ever achieved flight and all references to it cease after 1834. Tom D. Crouch, curator of aeronautics at the National Air and Space Museum and a former chief of education for the Ohio Historical Society, has researched Masson’s invention extensively, publishing his findings in the Journal of the American Aviation Historical Society [Spring 1974]. According to Mr. Crouch:
“If we are to believe the articles published in the Cincinnati papers, and there seems no reason to doubt them, then Albert Masson was the first person in history to produce a heavier-than-air craft, powered by a prime mover, that was actually intended to fly.”
Although Mr. Masson vanished into the mists of history, between 1840 and 1902, Cincinnati newspapers printed at least 404 articles with the phrase “flying machine.” Some of these reports featured home-grown Cincinnati aeronauts.
Cincinnatians awoke on 27 Oct 1889 to learn that a local man, one Ferdinand W. Randall of Main Street, had built a flying machine. In fact, this inventor had quite a surprise for the scientific community. As related by the Cincinnati Enquirer:
“He not only has a flying machine, but claims to have discovered perpetual motion.”
The newspaper goes on to relate that Mr. Randall’s inventions have “something lacking.” That “something” was, of course, money.
Mr. Randall, approximately 35 years in age at the time, was a photographer. His workshop was on Main Street. His flying machine was described as a “peculiar-looking sail-boat” suspended by a wire from the ceiling. It was basically a boat hull, with a screw propeller and rudder at the rear, four wheels and an “intricate mass of fans and wire cables.” Two black wings, wider and longer than the boat, were suspended above. According to the Enquirer,
“The beauty about Mr. Randall’s machine is that it can move on land, in the water, or in the air.”
Randall told the Enquirer he had read every book available on aeronautics and is “undoubtedly well posted on the subject.” Well posted or not, Mr. Randall joined the roster of inventors whose aircraft never left the ground.
Curiously, just 18 months later, the Cincinnati newspapers found yet another potential flying machine. This one was created by a mechanic named John Randall, of 322 Vine Street, who had built a flying machine remarkably similar to the airship unveiled by Ferdinand Randall – a boat 18 feet long with a mass of wires attached.
Similar flying machines and identical names? Not a coincidence. The Randalls were brothers who had operated Randall Brothers Outdoor Photographers for several years. The younger brother struck out on his own and got work as a mechanic and electrician.
Ferdinand apparently gave the flying machine to his brother because the machine described in 1891 is almost identical to the 1889 machine with one exception. John replaced the two black wings atop Ferdinand’s machine with a large canvas balloon. In other words, it was no longer a heavier-than-air machine, but only a mechanically propelled lighter-than-air craft. Not the same thing at all.
IMAGE EXTRACTED FROM MICROFILM BY GREG HAND
Had another local man succeeded, Kennedy Heights or Norwood might be known as the birthplace of manned flight. Alas, Charles M. Mallory did not succeed. In fact, he failed again and again and again. Sometimes spectacularly.
In August 1902, the 40-year-old Mallory, a pattern maker with the Bullock Electric Manufacturing Company, announced that he would launch a new flying machine into the air from a vacant lot in Kennedy Heights. With a large crowd observing, he rolled out a contraption described by the Cincinnati Enquirer:
“It was as if two monster Mexican hats had been inverted and joined together by a framework that had wings on either side. At one end was a rudder.”
With a squad of volunteers tugging away, Mallory’s monstrosity “scudded along the scaffolding for a few feet and then toppled over on one side.”
Mallory tried again in November 1902 at the grounds of the old Norwood Inn. This time, instead of human volunteers, Colonel James E. Fennessy, a local theatrical impresario, volunteered to tow the contraption aloft with his automobile. Col. Fennessy got bored waiting for Mallory to prepare his flying machine and drove home. Fennessy sent a chauffeur out to Norwood with another automobile, but he, too, lost patience.
When Mallory was finally ready, no automobiles could be found, despite messengers and phone calls. While waiting in vain for another runabout, Mallory agreed to pose for photographs in his machine, hoisted to the top of a derrick. The wind caught the contraption and dashed it to the ground from a height of 25 feet. Although Mallory was unhurt, his flying machine was in tatters.
Mallory attempted another flight in August 1903 off Lookout Mountain in Tennessee but, again, the wind dashed his contraction to flinders. Interestingly, Mallory told the Cincinnati Post at that time that he had achieved an 80-foot flight in Norwood, a feat suspiciously unseen by any other witness.
Four months later, the Wright boys grabbed the prize.
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