PILOT STORIES: Brown, Henry J.

Henry J. Brown was living in Chicago, Illinois in late 1924 when he decided to apply for a position as an airmail pilot. He began working for the service on January 12 the next year.

On August 5, 1920, Brown made a forced landing while flying from Cleveland, Ohio to Bellefonte, Pennsylvania. In a telegram he sent to Second Assistant Postmaster General Otto Praeger, he said that he had made the forced landing on the Brookville Race track due to a gas line on his main tank becoming clogged. "Landed on gravity tank, blowing tire. Received new tire from Bellefonte and cleaned out gas line. Left Brookville 11:20 am August 6 for Bellefonte. Flew across mountains in fog and compass not working. Landed at Curtin to get bearings. Was informed Bellefonte was 17 miles up the valley but was directed on wrong side of mountain range. Had to fly at 600' altitude because of low clouds and poor visibility. Crossed the range before trying to locate Bellefonte. Gas in main tank gave out and I landed on gravity tank near Stormstown 7 miles west of State College on rolling field, landing gear striking knell and turned over, damaged prop, radiator, engine bed, tire, entering edge of top wings and rudder. Turned ship right side up and reported wreck to Kelley at Bellefonte."

On January 12, 1925, Brown was transferred to the Western Division, flying out of Elko, Nevada. He survived a nasty crash there, as he reported to his superintendent, W. E. LaFollette. "On April 6, airplane 373, I left Elko with West bound mail 11:46 AM. At Beowawe I decided the visibility sufficient to leave the railroad and follow the course. A broken over-cast changed up to a solid over-cast with numerous rain and snow storms, forcing me to pick holes over and around ranges up to 60 degrees on either side of the course. Following down Dixie Valley I mistook Humboldt Marsh Lake for Alkali Lake which lies in the valley that is on the course. Following down Dixie Valley I saw that I was off the course, but did not know which side of it I was. With uncertain visibility, and rather than go up or down the valley – it being impossible to cross a high range which would have taken me on to Carson Sink, a familiar land mark on the course, I decided that it would be good judgment to land on one of the scattered ranches and get definite bearings. The far end of the field proved softer than I had anticipated, so that running on it about ten miles per hour, the tail rose 45 degrees above horizontal. The metal propeller stopped in a vertical position and was driven into the soft mud several feet, so that the radiator just cleared the ground. The landing was made at approximately 1:24 PM. Using a rope tied to the tail skid and with the aid of a few spectators we pulled the airplane down to its normal position and discovered that the propeller at one tip, was out of alignment about two inches. I considered attempting to straighten the propeller and pulling the airplane out of the mud, but judged that this could not be done in time to get the mail into Frisco before dark, and would only endanger the chances of getting the mail on a train that night. I then made arrangements to put a guard on the airplane and to truck the mail to the nearest railroad point, Fallon, some 75 miles distance. The closest telephone was Frenchman's Station, 35 miles on the way to Fallon. I succeeded in getting a connection with the field but was unable to make them understand anything except that I would train the mail at Fallon and had gone through the fence and over on my back. The Ford we were driving in broke down five miles west of Frenchman's Station. Fortunately we had passed a prospector's hut a mile behind us and were able to enlist his services along with those of his Ford. We arrived at Fallon 6:30 PM fifteen minutes before the motor train left for Hazen. At Hazen the mail was put on #19 SP arriving Frisco at eight the following morning."