“Consequently it is with great bitterness that we have seen ourselves singled out by the Civil Aeronautics Board for denial of a certificate of public convenience and necessity.... It is even harder to accept the decision because the only reason we are given for it is that we don’t have a million dollars. We never had a million dollars and we never needed a million dollars to perform our operations, but we do have almost all the dollars we started with. We feel that we have successfully demonstrated that an airline can be kept going, at a profit, if hard work, ingenuity, and a desire to make a profit are substituted for lavish spending of other people’s money.”
In such a sketchy review of the reams of testimony submitted to the Committee it is quite impossible to do more than attempt to summarize the major points of view and try to pan out the nuggets that reveal the vital issues. After sluicing away the rubble and uncovering bed rock, my own impression is largely one of intense sympathy for the Civil Aeronautics Board. Charged with an almost impossible task, it has been subjected to terrific forces by organizations skilled in the art of influencing public opinion. I also come away with a feeling of regret that airline management could not have approached the problem under the precepts adopted by the Aircraft Industries Association.
Most American early birds will recall with a nostalgic smile a cartoon that once adorned the walls of many a pioneer flight school. Entitled “His First Solo,” it depicted a forlorn fledgling perched out on the end of a bare limb. Near its root poised an impatient mother bird from whose beak floated the command, “Come on, kid! Give ’er the gun!”
One day, while studying the conflicting testimony of airline operators in an endeavor to predict the next twist of the slipstream, I recalled this early masterpiece of contemporary art. The fledgling on the end of the limb seemed now to have feathered out; he appeared, in fact, almost overgrown. The mother bird cocked her head questioningly, “I wonder if he’s got what it takes?”
From the days of Wilbur and Orville Wright on down to the present, aviators have groped for an understanding of the airplane’s destiny. Charles A. Lindbergh, in his book Of Flight and Life, has stated the problem:
The tragedy of scientific man is that he has found no way to guide his own discoveries to a constructive end. He has guarded none so carefully that his enemies have not eventually obtained it and turned it against him. He has developed a system in which his security today and tomorrow seems to depend on building weapons which will destroy him the day after. He has become so hypnotized by his search for knowledge that he must go on discovering and experimenting even though it leads to his own annihilation. With the key to science he has turned loose forces which he cannot re-imprison.
In the closing paragraph of his book Lindbergh states, “Our salvation, and our only salvation, lies in controlling the arm of western science by the eternal truths of God.”
Igor I. Sikorsky, in The Invisible Encounter, goes back two thousand years for his solution. In a chapter called “Kingdoms of the World,” he quotes from the Gospel according to Matthew: “Again the devil taketh Him up into an exceeding high mountain, and sheweth Him all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them and saith unto Him. All these things will I give Thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me.”
Mr. Sikorsky then goes on to say: