The Brannigan story is shorter, no less dramatic. High-spirited, keen, a captain whose ship and crew must always be shipshape, Brannigan had come to Goodyear from the Army—where he had already distinguished himself by making repairs in mid air to the semi-rigid Roma, ripped by a splintered propeller—saving a comrade as an incident to the job—had quickly won his captaincy at Goodyear, was one of its best flyers.
At Kansas City one afternoon in 1931 a Kansas twister headed for the airport. Seeing the weather uncertain Brannigan had stopped passenger flying, put his ship on the mast. Now he ordered his mechanic to get off and cut the ship loose. Once aloft, with helium gas, he was not afraid of any storm that blew. But before the ship could clear the mast, the storm had struck, with full fury. The anchors holding the mast pulled out of the ground and the ship, with the mast attached, was hurled into the nearest hangar, ripping one motor off. That was Brannigan’s cue to jump. The door had been propped open for a photographer’s camera. But he had one motor left, the bag was undamaged, the mast had fallen clear. He wouldn’t give up his ship as long as there was a chance to save it.
Reunion in Akron—The ships comprising the Goodyear fleet, could tell stirring stories of battles with the elements waged in many states.
Some of these pilots flew airships in the first war, others came in later from the technical schools—many now are flying airships for the Navy.
From this pocket handkerchief size airport, off the Century of Progress Exposition in Chicago, Goodyear ships carried thousands of passengers, from all over America.
The Mayflower landed on the deck of the SS Bremen, took off passenger P. W. Litchfield.