Charlie, my great uncle, was a serious arm chair adventurer. He was born in 1878 and grew to adulthood during the great age of American industrial and mechanical innovation. I can imagine his enthusiasm for the Wright Brothers and their flying machine, for Edison and Marconi and their tinkering in early electronics and radio. To feed his interest in the world around him, Charlie became an early member of the National Geographic Society, perhaps as early as 1895. When he died in 1961, I had already inherited his many interests in science and the surrounding world. He also left me hundreds of Society magazines, maps, and miscellaneous items.
Today, a small red dot twelve miles south of White Lake, South Dakota, took on added significance, thanks to Charlie and his sense of adventure. The dot marked the landing spot of a record setting balloon flight made by the Society and the U.S. Army on November 11, 1935. On that day, Captain O. A. Anderson and Captain A. W. Stevens lifted off in their gondola, Explorer II, ascending to an altitude of near 73,000 feet. After eight hours and 225 miles drifting to the east, they descended to a safe landing in the rolling grasslands of White Lake.
I noticed that dot about an hour before we reached the Interstate 90 exit that would take me to this sacred ground. We drove the allotted twelve miles south of town to the end of pavement, then turned east on a dirt road labelled "274th Street" and proceeded slowly west for about a mile looking for what I thought would be a suitable marker or art deco monument marking the site. There were no brown signs marking the way. All of us scanned the fields for any sign of history, but it wasn't there. We drove another mile and still no sign. I had to accept the reality that, for me, this event would be a memory today. On the landscape, it was intangible history. There would be no photograph of OTR, the aviation and space enthusiast, standing by a beloved aviation history monument.
My traveling companions were perplexed at what would drive me to this obscure site, beyond my interest and that red dot in the travel atlas. There are two reasons. First, among the miscellaneous items in my Society collection is a panoramic picture, perhaps three feet wide, taken at Explorer II's highest altitude. The picture is in perfect condition. And second, the Society shared the significance of the flight with its members by sending them a nice sample of the fabric balloon encased in plastic accompanied by a nice description of its accomplishments.
Today, a small red dot twelve miles south of White Lake, South Dakota, took on added significance, thanks to Charlie and his sense of adventure. The dot marked the landing spot of a record setting balloon flight made by the Society and the U.S. Army on November 11, 1935. On that day, Captain O. A. Anderson and Captain A. W. Stevens lifted off in their gondola, Explorer II, ascending to an altitude of near 73,000 feet. After eight hours and 225 miles drifting to the east, they descended to a safe landing in the rolling grasslands of White Lake.
I noticed that dot about an hour before we reached the Interstate 90 exit that would take me to this sacred ground. We drove the allotted twelve miles south of town to the end of pavement, then turned east on a dirt road labelled "274th Street" and proceeded slowly west for about a mile looking for what I thought would be a suitable marker or art deco monument marking the site. There were no brown signs marking the way. All of us scanned the fields for any sign of history, but it wasn't there. We drove another mile and still no sign. I had to accept the reality that, for me, this event would be a memory today. On the landscape, it was intangible history. There would be no photograph of OTR, the aviation and space enthusiast, standing by a beloved aviation history monument.
My traveling companions were perplexed at what would drive me to this obscure site, beyond my interest and that red dot in the travel atlas. There are two reasons. First, among the miscellaneous items in my Society collection is a panoramic picture, perhaps three feet wide, taken at Explorer II's highest altitude. The picture is in perfect condition. And second, the Society shared the significance of the flight with its members by sending them a nice sample of the fabric balloon encased in plastic accompanied by a nice description of its accomplishments.
And what were those accomplishments of this piece of missing history? The flight established an altitude record that endured for more than twenty years, well into the Jet Age. It provided the first photographs showing the division between troposphere and stratosphere, as well as the curvature of the earth. In addition, the on board instrumentation and experiments contributed to the study of cosmic radiation, ozone layering, high altitude radio wave propagation, meteorology, and biology. In all, I'd say Explorer II was quite worthy of its red dot and more. Today, the gondola has an honored place in the Smithsonian Institution's National Air and Space Museum in Washington. It is a far cry from the windswept grasslands of central South Dakota.
On my return home, the picture and the fabric balloon will soon be framed and on my wall. What will be missing is my picture at the missing monument on that sacred ground. Sometimes history is like that, only a memory on a waving grassland. The search for this history will always be remembered. And there are plenty of red dots to keep me searching for a long, long time.
Sources: Wikipedia, Smithsonian Institution NASM
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