“The problem for Frank then was to get another ride. He finally went to the flyer, and told him what he had done. He was forgiven, and worked out his passage for that ride and other rides by working around the flying field. It was then he learned to fly. But business was not too good, and the brothers moved on. Frank Hawks went on with his high school work, and was graduated in 1916. Thought he ought to have more book learning, so he went on to the University of California.
“But the war stopped that. When he was twenty, Hawks joined the army, the Flying Corps. He was too good, though. Too good for his own good. They never sent him to France, where he wanted to go. Instead, they made him an instructor, so that he could teach green recruits how to fly. At the end of the war he was discharged, with the title of Captain.
“The five years after that were hectic ones. Aviation was still new—interest in it had been stirred up by war flying, and all sorts of men, young, old, every kind, bought up old planes from the government and went barnstorming around the country, taking people up on flights, stunting, flying in air circuses, balloon jumping, and doing anything they could to make money with their tubs. Some of these planes were no more than old junk, and the flyers no more than the rankest amateurs. But there were some of them who were good, and one of these was Hawks. He went dizzily stunting around the country, until’ he got himself the reputation of being just plain crazy, but a great flyer.
“There were ups and downs, to be sure. And I don’t mean to be funny, either, my lads. The people in the United States were getting just a little weary of going up in airplanes just for the fun of the thing—they were getting too common. But—there were people down in Mexico who had never seen a plane, much less flown in one, so down to Mexico went Hawks. He gave. Mexico plenty of thrills, and Mexico gave him some, too. The country was unsettled at the time, upset with revolutions. Hawks got a job flying a diplomat from Mexico City to his ranch, because they’d be safer in the air than going by automobile through the mountains. Hawks even tried ranching for a while, but it didn’t work.
“He decided to go back to the United States, and when he went back he married Edith Bowie, who hailed from Texas. Down in Texas Hawks flew over the cotton fields with arsenic to kill the boll weevils. He worked in the oil fields, too, as a driller. It was good experience for him. They found out that he could fly, and he got a job piloting officials of the oil company from place to place in the oil country. They found that they were saving time and money.
“At this time Lindy flew over the Atlantic. Hawks bought the Spirit of San Diego, which was the sister ship to the Spirit of St. Louis, and flew across the country to greet Lindbergh when he came back. He flew 4,000 miles on a National tour with the Spirit of San Diego, and then 7,000 miles criss-cross.
“Luck was with him. He was going to reap his just rewards. He became a member of one of the country’s richest oil companies, as their technical flying expert. He advised them in buying planes, and chose their pilots for them, and in addition, had to sell flying to the country.
“And maybe he didn’t set out in earnest to make the country sit up and take notice then! There was a Wasp-motored Lockheed Air Express monoplane at the manufacturers’ in Los Angeles, and it had to be flown to New York. Hawks got the bright idea that he could fly it across the country without a stop. And he did.
“It was his first cross-country flight, and his hardest. In the first place, it was February, and the weather was pretty bad for flying—so uncertain that they couldn’t predict what he’d run into. But he decided to take his chance. This was in 1929. Of course, its being 1929 didn’t make it any harder, but I just thought I ought to tell you what year it was. The start from Los Angeles wasn’t bad. He had a mechanic with him to keep filling the gasoline engines, a fellow by the name of Oscar Grubb. They hadn’t flown for very long when they ran into a fog. Hawks thought he’d try flying below the ceiling—but he ran into a snow storm. Then he tried climbing above it. He couldn’t get over it.
“And in the midst of all this terrible strain of flying through fog so thick that he couldn’t see the nose of his plane, the engine began to miss. The tank was empty. He switched on the other tank. It was empty, too. Why hadn’t Oscar warned him that the fuel supply was out? What had happened to it? Hawks looked back. There was Oscar, sprawled out, fast asleep. But he woke up. Pretty lucky for Oscar Grubb that he did, and typical Hawks luck. The tanks were filled, and on they flew through the murk and fog. The fog cleared a little when they got to Kentucky, but Hawks didn’t know where he was, anyway. It wasn’t until they got to Washington that he recognized his position, by the Capitol dome. From there he sped to New York, where everybody was glad to see him. No wonder. This speedy gentleman had made the trip in 18 hours, 21 minutes, breaking all speed records then existing for non-stop cross country flight.