Cover image for The flyers : [in search of Wilbur & Orville Wright]
Title:
The flyers : [in search of Wilbur & Orville Wright]
Author:
Adams, Noah.
Personal Author:
Publication Information:
New York, N.Y. : Random House Audio, [2003]

â„—2003
Physical Description:
5 audio discs (300 min.) : digital ; 4 3/4 in.
General Note:
Unabridged.

Compact discs.

Subtitle from container.
Language:
English
ISBN:
9780739304464
Format :
Audiobook on CD

Available:*

Library
Call Number
Material Type
Home Location
Status
Central Library TL540.W7 A64 2003D Adult Audiobook on CD Audiobooks
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Summary

Summary

"It takes only nineteen seconds to walk the distance of the first powered flight. But when I was there the wind was up and cold on my face, and I felt as if I'd entered the black-and-white photograph I'd been seeing all my life. The sand is light gray, there's a spill of surf in the distance. Wilbur, running at the right of the plane, and Orville, the pilot, are in dark suits. The propellers blur against the sky as the machine rises. . . ." So begins Noah Adams's adventure in search of Wilbur and Orville Wright, a journey that takes him across the country as he follows in the footsteps of the famous brothers in an attempt to know them more deeply, not just as inventors and pilots but as individuals as well. Adams, one of our most distinctive and talented storytellers, traveled thousands of miles and interviewed scores of experts and individuals to piece together his story. He finds a local boat captain to ferry him to Kitty Hawk, along the same route that Wilbur took in 1900, and spends several days talking with descendants of the families who first welcomed the Wright brothers a century ago and helped them conduct their gliding experiments. To experience first-hand the thrill of being in the air, Adams himself goes hang-gliding in the Outer Banks. To understand the aerodynamics of lift and drag and how the famous 1903 plane was constructed, he visits Ken Hyde, a Virginia pilot and vintage aircraft builder who is creating the world's most accurate reproduction of the 1903 Wright Flyer. Adams goes to the prop shop and handles the tools and materials that the Wrights used to build their gliders and planes, and later he visits the wind tunnel at Langley Air Force Base where Hyde's reproduction was tested for the first time. He also travels to France to visit the old racetrack at Le Mans where Wilbur startled the European aviation community with his demonstration flights in 1908, and he spends a few days at Wisconsin's Oshkosh Fly-in, where builders of experimental aircraft and owners of vintage planes gather every year to dazzle the crowds. Adams himself takes to the air in a restored Ford Tri-Motor, America's first airliner, which took its maiden flight seventy years ago. In Adams's book we encounter the Wright brothers in a way that no writer has introduced them before. Through the lens of his own experiences as well as original reporting, letters, diaries, and other primary source material, he helps us understand the talent and intensity of the brothers and their family, including the fascinating, deeply complex, and at times tragic bond between Orville and Katharine, his younger sister. The Flyersis a wonderfully rich narrative that brings an unprecedented spirit of immediacy to one of history's most dramatic stories. From the Hardcover edition.


Author Notes

Noah Adams is the co-host of NPR's "All Things Considered." He lives with his wife in Takoma Park, Maryland.

(Bowker Author Biography)


Reviews 4

Booklist Review

This book is more than just another history of the Wright Brothers' first flight. Adams, host of National Public Radio's All Things Considered, retraced Wilbur Wright's first trip--by train and boat--to North Carolina's Outer Banks in 1900 and stopped by the Wright family plot in Woodland Cemetery in Dayton, Ohio. Adams visited the Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Ohio that had its beginnings as the Huffman Prairie Flying Field. Orville had left a sketch of the field from 1904, designed by the two brothers and their mechanic, Charlie Taylor. Adams also visited the horseracing track in France where the Wright Flyer set records as the European aviation community watched. The author toured Governors Island in New York Harbor, the spot where Wilbur made a 20-mile, roundtrip up the Hudson River, and the parade grounds of Fort Myer, Virginia, where Orville conducted test flights for the U.S. Army. Much of Adams' research was done at the Library of Congress and the archives of Dayton's Wright State University, where he read thousands of letters and examined photo albums, microfilm, notebooks, and ledgers--and even Orville's lifelong collection of business and calling cards left by visitors. This is the closest look yet at the Wright family, including the troubled relationship between Orville and his sister,atharine. --George Cohen Copyright 2003 Booklist


Publisher's Weekly Review

Adams, cohost of NPR's All Things Considered and author of Piano Lessons, sets out to learn about the Wright Brothers, their family and why they loved to fly so much. Adams visits all the spots important to the brothers, from the Outer Banks of North Carolina, where they flew gliders, to France; Dayton, Ohio; and New York. The most appealing part of the book is the look at the close relationship between Orville, Wilbur and their sister Katherine. Following the death of their mother, the three were devoted to one another and planned on living together. In fact, after Wilbur's death, when Katherine announced her plans to marry, at age 50, Orville was devastated and ended up not seeing his sister until she was on her deathbed a few years later. Adams uses letters and diaries to describe the lives of the Wrights; some of these details are not widely included in other books that focus on their inventions and accomplishments. Adams intersperses his personal musings as he re-creates the travels of the Wrights: "Wilbur's Arlington Hotel is gone, replaced by a three-story condominium, the La Casita. I put up at the Comfort Inn, out at the bypass. I had plans for my own boat trip, leaving at first light." In the end, he's a personable guide into the Wright Brothers' world, offering a refreshing look at these aviation pioneers. (Oct.) Forecast: Timed to the 100th anniversary of the Wright Brothers' flight at Kitty Hawk, along with national appearances, sales should be strong, particularly in such regions as North Carolina and Ohio. (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved


Library Journal Review

NPR correspondent Adams's popular travelog account of the well-thumbed Wright Brothers story fills a niche in centenary historiography. Eschewing the largely biographical and technical approaches taken by other contributors, the author's fast-paced, impressionistic narrative fans reader interest by highlighting the triumphs and quixotic personalities of his subjects and their nuclear family at the expense of setbacks in the field and dry laboratory experiments. He ends where he begins, with the brothers' final successful flight at Kitty Hawk on December 17, 1903. Sandwiched in between are Adams's poignant visit to the Wright plots at Woodland Cemetery, retracing of the Wrights' arduous journeys to North Carolina's Outer Banks, hang-gliding experiments near Kitty Hawk, visit to the original Huffman Prarie site near Dayton, tramping over Wilbur's several flying fields in France, trip to Governor's Island in New York in remembrance of Wilbur's part in the 1909 Hudson-Fulton Celebration, and nostalgic tour of the family home, Hawthorn Hill. Although Wright followers will find nothing new in this book, it is nevertheless an entertaining read. [Previewed in Prepub Alert, LJ 6/15/03; see also the reviews of Walt Burton and Owen Findsen's The Wright Brothers Legacy and Flight, p. 75.-Ed.]-John Carver Edwards, Univ. of Georgia Libs., Athens (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.


Choice Review

Many new books were published during 2003 celebrating the centennial of the Wright brothers' first powered flights in a human-carrying airplane. Some volumes have been scholarly, some are for aviation buffs, and a few are for general readers. Adams's book is a fine example of the last. Such an orientation is expected from the host of NPR's "All Things Considered." Adams recounts the search, both literal and figurative, for both the Wrights and their accomplishments as opposed to legends surrounding the reality of a great story. The book is both informative and a pleasure to read, and it offers a solid bibliography for readers desiring to learn more. It is a book for high school students as well as mature readers. Not only are the Wright Brothers uncovered for those familiar only with their iconic images but also their sister Katherine Wright Haskell and father Bishop Milton Wright, who provided much emotional support for the brothers' aeronautical efforts; their mother, Susan Wright, who died before the brothers committed themselves to the work that brought them everlasting fame, had helped develop their strength of character. For readers not dulled by the centennial's publicity. ^BSumming Up: Highly recommended. General readers; lower- and upper-division undergraduates; two-year technical program students. M. Levinson formerly, University of Washington


Excerpts

Excerpts

WOODLAND CEMETERY I know where all the bodies are buried," Jim Sandegren tells me, laughing, as we walk up one of the cemetery roads. He also knows the names of all the trees. This was a rural cemetery, laid out over a farmer's uncut hillsides a mile from downtown Dayton. Sandegren is the staff horticulturist. He has thirty thousand trees and a hundred thousand souls to look after. "Here's where the Wright brothers are." He points to a granite monument with the carved family name, overlooking five graves. "People on tours especially are amazed. They expect to see something much more grand and glorious than this, and I always say that the Wrights probably felt what they did was monument enough. No two people ever lived, I mean short of Jesus, would have had a greater impact on the numbers of people than Wilbur and Orville did." Sandegren wears work boots and a blue-and-white striped shirt with jim over a pocket that contains reading glasses, pen, a plastic calendar. Every day he takes a diagnostic walk through the cemetery woods, touching limbs, feathering leaves through his fingers. He says his biggest problem is keeping the trees safe from the mowers and string trimmers. The tricolor beech is a favorite-he shows me one that's a century old. Now, in midsummer, the variegated leaves have a reddish tint, soon to change to creamy pink and white, then green in the fall. And sassafras trees-one of them is an Ohio State Champion. "I have never seen the big sassafras to the extent that we have here," Sandegren says. "I love the tree. You know it was the original material for root beer? The flavoring?" He cracks off a piece of bark and a clean, lemony aroma floats out. "When we dig a grave close to a sassafras tree, invariably we'll get into the roots and they're very pungent. A lot of the guys will take them and wash them and make tea, like a spring tonic." I ask about the gravedigger's work, how it's done these days. "We have a thirty-six-inch backhoe. Sometimes it'll be gravelly, which causes cave-ins, and you have to get down in the hole, which represents a certain amount of hazard, but nobody's going to be working by themselves." "How deep?" "You put thirty inches of material on top and the casket's about thirty-two inches, so roughly between five and six feet. But you've noticed these hills we've got here-sometimes you'll get eighteen inches of dirt on one end of a casket and six foot on the other." The Wright family plot is on a slight downslope, fifty yards below a road that runs along Woodland Cemetery's top ridge. The grave markers sit together in a modest-sized rectangular space, and it would be reasonable to think of Orville standing here with a pencil and graph paper, deciding who would end up where. An engineer, drawing an airplane, sketching a gravesite-the aim is for the elegant, economical line. The family monument, shoulder-high and four feet wide, stands at the high end of the plot. The letters wright emerge from the granite front. The parents' headstones are centered in the grass below: Susan C. Wright and Milton Wright. And in a row farther on, the three children: Wilbur Wright, Katharine Wright Haskell, and Orville Wright. All the stones are small, low, and rounded-"pillow markers" they're called by cemetarians-and bear the same style of raised letters and numbers. I'm confused about where to stand. "Where are the graves, actually?" I ask Jim. "I don't want to be standing on top of Wilbur here." "The bodies are behind the headstones," he said. "You view the body over the headstone, so it's really a footstone." There were two older Wright brothers, Reuchlin, buried in Kansas City, and Lorin, who's with his own family here at Woodland. And two other siblings, twins, who died in infancy. They had long lain under a single marker in another Dayton cemetery, and when the Wright descendants learned that grave was being neglected, Jim Sandegren volunteered to go dig up the remains and bring them to Woodland. He did so alone, without ceremony or publicity. He said what he found wouldn't fill a coffee can, just some discolored earth. He reburied the twins at the base of the family monument, and propped up their tombstone: OTIS & IDA Children of Milton & Susan C. WRIGHT DIED March 1870 ages 13 & 18 days People often leave money on the Wrights' headstones. On this day, on Wilbur's, I count five dimes, twenty-three pennies, and a precisely placed acorn. Jim says he picks up the coins, saving them in his desk to buy flowers for the Wrights. The grave of Paul Laurence Dunbar is in this same cemetery section, under a shimmering golden willow. Both of Dunbar's parents had been slaves in Kentucky. He was raised by his mother, Mrs. Matilda Dunbar, on Dayton's West Side, and he went to high school with Orville. The Wrights published Dunbar's earliest poetry in the weekly neighborhood newspaper they'd started in 1889, as part of their home-based printing business. Paul Dunbar became famous for his use of African-American dialect-he read for Queen Victoria in London-but felt he had more to offer in classic poetry and fiction. He died of tuberculosis, unhappy, a drinker, at thirty-three. The Dunbar monument is a rough granite boulder, with a Tiffany-made bronze plaque now softened by verdigris, which carries a stanza of his poetry: Lay me down beneaf de willers in de grass, Whah de branch'll go a-singing as it pass; An' w'en I's a-layin' low I kin hyeah it as it go Singin' "Sleep, my honey, tek' yo' res' at las'." The most visited grave at Woodland Cemetery belongs not to the Wright Brothers, or Paul Dunbar, or the beloved hometown humor columnist Erma Bombeck, but to a young boy named Johnny Morehouse. When people stop at the cemetery's main gate they most often ask-especially if they have children in the car-"Where's the Boy and his Dog?" The answer could be "Take the first right and then the first left and when you start laughing you're there." Those directions will lead you to the statue of a dog, which happens on this day to be wearing surfer sunglasses. Then you notice: an American flag, an angel, a blue pinwheel, a baseball, a yellow toy dump truck, a teddy bear with a green hat, golden and purple and red plastic flowers, an assortment of big-eyed Beanie Babies-all but covering up a sleeping stone boy wearing a blue-and-white plaid tam o'shanter. Jim says, "Kids will come and leave a toy or a bag of pebbles, special things. Sometimes they'll trade, and take something home to play with for a while." The dog is poised in vigil, his left foreleg arched over the body of the child. The name johnny morehouse is on the pedestal. Jim tells me the story: "Johnny Morehouse was a five-year-old boy in 1860 and he ran the neighborhoods freely. I've never heard anybody say what his dog's name was. Johnny was playing around the canal and got too close and got into the water and into trouble and his dog jumped in and pulled him out, but not in time to save his life. But the dog laid the boy on the ground and was so protective that he crouched over the body just like you see it in the statue and wouldn't even let the authorities touch it." I ask, "Johnny Morehouse is really buried here?" "Oh yes. And it was even said that later the dog would come to the cemetery and lay down beside the grave." The City Vault is next on Jim's tour. He'll take schoolkids inside and recite poems about bats, watching the youngsters' eyes widen and gleam. He unlocks the building for me with a clank and wheeeek of the steel door. "This vault is made of Dayton Formation limestone," he says. "It was built by James Wuichet in 1847 for twenty dollars, and he took that in the form of a twelve-grave lot." The style is vaguely Egyptian, with two columns in front presuming to hold up the roof. The limestone is streaked with rain and age, returning to the earth. We step inside. The air is dark-dusty and heavy. "They used to keep bodies in here, you can see the brackets and beams and cleats along the side? Maybe twenty-four caskets at a time." In the nineteenth century the winters were colder, Jim maintains, and sometimes you had to wait for a thaw so you could dig the grave. Then he pauses: "The not-so-nice explanation involves the body snatchers." People called the grave robbers "resurrectionists." They sold bodies to medical schools for study-by one physician's estimate, five thousand bodies in Ohio between 1811 and 1881. They opened the coffin, then dragged the corpse out, leaving the clothes behind, and replaced the earth and sod. Jim says, "So what they decided was to put the deceased in this vault for two or three weeks and give the body time to deteriorate to the point where it wouldn't be of any value and then take it out and bury it." B B A Gypsy gravesite stands atop one of the small hills in the cemetery. There are many caskets in an underground vault, below a monument to King Levi and Queen Matilda Stanley. Levi's father, Owen Stanley, had been a Gypsy leader in England before settling in Dayton. When Queen Matilda was buried at Woodland in 1878, one newspaper counted a thousand carriages in the procession from downtown; she'd been Gypsy Queen of the United States and it was a gathering of the tribe. "The Stanley tribe had camps and farms north of town," says Jim. "In fact, there's two streets out there, one is Gypsy Street and one is Nomad Street, and they stayed there in cold weather. In the summertime they traveled, went around door to door sharpening kitchen knives; they were tinsmiths and coopers and horse traders. The women dressed very well. They had jewelry and lots of it, and when they went out they put it all on." Some of the older people of Dayton might steer you toward Elizabeth Richter's monument. Professionally she was known as "Lib Hedges." She owned the Bon Ton Hotel, one of twenty maisons de joie in Dayton in the 1890s-the names of the madams would be painted on red glass over the front doors: Cleo LaBelle, Ferne DeMarr, Flo Dowdie . . . It is said that Lib Hedges-generous with charities and flood relief-was worth half a million dollars when she died. She invested in real estate and took pride in finding houses for her girls when they left to be married. She also provided burial benefits when there was no known family, and now alongside Ms. Hedges's monument at Woodland are two small headstones bearing only the names Lora and Maud. Jim and I walk on, past the graves of nineteen Revolutionary War veterans, past the curving ranks of Civil War headstones, past the old potter's field, called the Dayton City Lot. On every hillside can be found victims of the Great Flood of 1913, and the influenza epidemic in 1918. And you'll recognize the prominent Dayton names: Charles Kettering invented the automobile self-starter, for Cadillac. John Patterson perfected the selling of cash registers and led NCR into a data-processing future. Former Ohio governor James Cox founded a chain of newspapers and radio and TV stations. George Huffman made sewing machines, then Huffy bicycles. In the community of spirit that is Woodland Cemetery, the Wright brothers are among their peers. Dayton, Ohio, in 1900, led the nation in per capita patent grants. As I walk the narrow cemetery roadways in the afternoon's slanting light, I am reminded of the tragedy of Wilbur's death. His hearse, drawn by white horses, passed along this way, after an open-casket viewing in a downtown church. The Dayton Daily News reported, "Thousands Follow Sad Cortege." His brother Orville said that day, "Wilbur had plans that no one will be able to carry into execution." Of the three youngest Wrights, Wilbur was the first to die, at forty-five. And his life had been just about to change-the difficult, often dangerous years of developing and testing and selling airplanes would be coming to an end. In the spring of 1911, the year before his death, Wilbur traveled to England, France, then Germany, fulfilling the Wrights' contracts to train pilots, and watching after several patent-infringement lawsuits. He was angered by "scoundrels and thieves" who would attempt to steal the brothers' ideas, and he wrote Orville in June to say that if it weren't for the patent fights and their obligation to investors, he'd be ready to quit. "If I could get free from business with the money we already have in hand I would rather do it than continue in business at a considerable profit." Wilbur was tired of traveling, and he missed his family. In 1911 he wrote from Berlin to his sister Katharine: "The papers report temperatures ranging from 105 to 110 degrees in America. I hope you have got poor old daddy's fan going for him all night. . . . Don't let him shut off the fan during the nights to save money. . . ." I found a sparse but moving narrative of Wilbur's final months in Bishop Wright's Diaries: 1857-1917, a volume that runs to 850 pages. The bishop kept notes in a long succession of small, leatherbound journals. He'd remark on his travels and his preaching, his sons' aviation endeavors, Katharine's teaching career, and who came to dinner and what they talked about. These are among the entries that lead up to and culminate with his son's death: Monday, January 1, 1912: "It is a bright cool-like day. This is the eighty-fourth First Day of the Year I have seen. They have been years of toil, but little physical pain. Not a year has been devoid of much happiness." Thursday, January 11: "Wilbur went in the afternoon to New York City." Saturday, January 13: "I was cleaning up my closet. Katharine went to Columbus, to visit the College Club. She reached home at midnight. I sat up till she came home. The mercury ran down to about zero." Thursday, April 18: ". . . the number lost on the Titanic seems larger than before. Wilbur started to New York to make a contract with the Aero Club." Thursday, May 2: "Wilbur began to have typhoid fever; first diagnosed, by Dr. D. B. Conklin, as probably malarial fever, and later as a typhoidal fever." Tuesday, May 7: "Wilbur is better. But still has considerable fever." Friday, May 10: "I took Lorin . . . we staid to see the Ringling parade. . . . Many wagons and nice horses, several open carriages with bears, wild cats, hyenas, leopards, tigers, lions and lionesses. A dozen camels, twenty odd elephants, a steam whistle. Wilbur still has high fever." From the Hardcover edition. Excerpted from The Flyers: In Search of Wilbur and Orville Wright by Noah Adams All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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