--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Cannon, Hugh J. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 32 number: 4 published: 1929-02 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Hugh J. Cannon, “The Pilot,” *Improvement Era* 32, no. 4 (February 1929): 283–286." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3204unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera3204unse start_page: 283 end_page: 286 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1929-02) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3204unse publication_year: 1929 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1929, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # The Pilot The Pilot By Hugh J. Cannon MEN who fly, either with airplanes or with automobiles, soon learn to view the most hair-raising exploits nonchalantly. A story is told of Dean C. Smith, a boyish-looking air-mail pilot in the East. One dark night he had to fly with the mail in the face of a heavy wind, which changed to a terrific gale as he gained altitude. He was therefore compelled to keep close to the earth, a most dangerous course in the inky blackness. No beacon lights were discernible, consequently he lost all his bearings and did not know whether he was 1,000 feet or 100 inches above the mountains which had to be crossed. Suddenly he felt his right wing scrape against something and instantly turned his plane upwards. In due time the lights of the city which was his objective appeared, and after making a safe landing, he climbed from his plane and stretched himself. Col- lier's Weekly gives this further account: ' 'Hey, Dean,' hails a mechanic, 'this wing tip is full of green stains and twigs. Have you been trying to push over some trees?' But Dean is already strolling away. For he is the pilot who once turned in this classic flight report: ' 'Dead stick [lever] — flying low — only place available, on cow. Killed cow — wrecked plane — scared me. Smith.' ' And in this same matter-of-fact way, David A. Jenkins, known in every state in the Union as "Ab," views his own performances. Ab, being an automobile driver, is supposed to stay on the earth, though he occasionally leaves it for a fleeting moment. He is a soft-spoken, modest fellow, no longer a boy though he looks it; but when one feels the vise-like grip of his hand, one concludes that it is possible for such a hand to hold a car on the road at ninety miles an hour even when a blowout occurs; and a look into his steel- blue eyes indicates, not only the physical power, but also the strong nerves of the man. On the floor of the Studebaker Corporation, at South Bend, Indiana, stands a sedan bearing the license number, "Utah. 10,000." On the side of the car are the words, "Ab Jenkins, Building Con- tractor, Salt Lake City." Of course this sedan has a history or it would not occupy its present place; and it is in historic company, for nearby is the carriage in which Abraham Lincoln rode to the capitol in Washington to make his inaugural address. Also the carriage 284 IMPROVEMENT ERA Feb.. 1929 which was given to Lafayette, the French soldier so greatly beloved in America, has a place there. "Utah, 10,000" is considerably the worse for wear, and no wonder. It had seen hard service before Jenkins was challenged to beat the fastest trains across the continent. Accepting this challenge, after obtaining as many letters as possible from officials giving him permission to drive rapidly over clear roads, he left New York in it on August 20, 1917, at eight p. m., Eastern time, and reached San Francisco on September 2 at 10:40 p. m., Pacific time, 3302 miles in 77 hours 40 minutes, including all stops for gas, oil, repairs, etc. And he drove every foot of the way himself without sleep. He beat the time of the fastest trains by 22 hours and 31 minutes, including their stops, or 12 hours and 16 minutes better than their actual running time. It may be stated here that he always observes the "Stop" signals while driving through cities. It is perhaps unneces- sary to say that he also observes the "Go" signals. The time that Ab momentarily left the earth was during this drive. The wonder is that he did not leave it permanently. As he was approaching Lincoln, Nebraska, at a ninety mile an hour clip — and not on the regular road, for that was being repaired, but on a detour — he came unexpectedly upon a right-angle turn. To stop the flying car was as impossible as it would be to stop ,a speeding railroad train by throwing a lasso over the engine's smokestack; to attempt to make the turn meant an upset and almost certain death. Ab set his jaws grimly; thoughts of the past and hopes for the future raced through his mind, keeping pace with the revolving wheels which were driving the car forward at the rate of 132 feet every second. It is said that this man has no nerves, but he must have felt them tingle just a bit as he deliberately drove straight ahead, and the car was so nearly flying that it jumped the ditch, touched the incline bank on the opposite side, cleared a barbed-wire fence and traveled thirty feet through the air before alighting right side up in a corn field with the driver unhurt. The body of the car was cracked and two wheels had to be replaced, but after this was hastily done Jenkins proceeded serenely on his way. This man's most notable achievement, thus far, as a driver was completed at 3:13% in the morning of November 8, 1928, when he climbed out of the car which he had driven more than 2,000 miles in 24 hours. The essentials of this story are told in an official letter from Washington to Mr. Jenkins, dated November 19, 1928, part of which we quote: "The records of the Contest Board show that in a test con- ducted under Official Sanction No. 2099 over the Atlantic City U/2- mile Board Speedway, starting at 3:13.30 a. m., Wednesday, No- Feb.. 1929 THE PILOT 285 vember 7, 1928, and finishing at 3: 13.30 a. m., Thursday, November 8, 1928, you . drove single-handed a Studebaker President "8" 2,019.786 miles at an average speed of 84.158 miles per hour. "While this is not the first time a car has been driven 24 hours without relief, the distance covered by you exceeds the best previous single-handed performance by 200 miles. Furthermore, it is the first instance under AAA supervision where the driver remained continually in his seat. "Arthur H. Means, "Assistant Secretary Contest Board." As is indicated in the letter, Jenkins did not move from the wheel for an instant during the entire drive. He took neither food nor water and did not take any stimulant. Stops were made for gasoline, which was driven into the car under high pressure to save precious seconds, and three times wheels had to be replaced because of blowouts, but these changes were made by a crew of experts who worked so rapidly that the stops averaged only 30 seconds each. The board track which, on the turns, is built on an incline of 47 degrees was torn up occasionally by the terrific speed. Once a piece of 2 x 4 flew up and pierced the running board, but fortunately did no serious damage. During the entire 24 hours a crew of carpenters was kept constantly at work making repairs on the track. To drive around these holes, one of which is shown in the accompanying illustration, required nerve and skill of a high order. During the night there was a heavy frost and men were kept busy throwing sand over the track, as it became so slippery that a car, without it, would have been quite unmanageable. As it was, Jenkin's car often skidded, and once it turned around several times on the icy boards before it slipped off the track and into the mud. The paint was literally blistered off the auto by flying sand, and the driver's goggles were ruined from the same cause. Another driver, renowned for his endurance, was entered in this contest, but was forced to abandon it after twelve hours. Some little time ago, Jenkins gave up his building business and is now a special demonstrator for an automobile company. He has been in every state in the Union and in most parts of Canada and Mexico, and is known in practically every city of more than 25,000 inhabitants in this country. From the 17th of June of last year to the 19th of December, he visited Canada and Mexico as well as 43 states of the Union and stopped at 152 hotels. This article is not written for the purpose of arousing the wanderlust or encouraging Era readers to drive their autos faster than they are now doing. In this speeding age such an effort is wholly unnecessary. However, it is always a worthy ambition to strive to 286 IMPROVEMENT ERA Feb.. 1929 reach the top of one's profession whatever it may be, whether build- ing homes or demonstrating autos. But the real objective of this story is made clear by the following brief dialogue with Ab, who, by the way, is a "Mormon," born in Spanish Fork, Utah county, and reared in Salt Lake City: "To what do you attribute your iron nerves and remarkable endurance?" Unhesitatingly the answer came: "To the fact that I do not use tobacco or liquor." Then he added, "I have never in my life tasted whisky or wine or beer nor used tobacco in any form." For a man to maintain his ideals in face of the fact that he is traveling constantly and mingling with all varieties of people, many of whom have no ideals whatever, indicates that he has a steadiness of character equal to that of his nerves. Tobacco Chewing and smoking are set forth by the tobacco trusts as delightful, harmless pastimes. It is even declared that the use of tobacco is beneficial — that it "soothes" the nerves. Chloroform soothes the nerves, too. A small bottle of it will soothe them forever. Let me tell you how tobacco kills. Smokers do not all drop dead around the cigar lighters in tobacco stores. They go away, and, years later, die of something else. From the tobacco trust's point of view, that is one of the finest things about tobacco. The victims do not die on the premises, even when sold the worst cigars. They go away, and when they die the doctors certify that they died of pneumonia, heart disease, typhoid fever, or what not. In other words, tobacco kills indirectly and escapes the blame. Nicotine, after you have used it awhile, puts you in a condition to be "bumped off" by the first thing that hits you. If you saw some men under- mine a building until it was ready to topple into the street, and then saw a woman hit the building with a baby carriage and make it topple, you would not say that the woman had wrecked the building, would you? Yet when a smoker dies of pneumonia, the doctor's death certificate gives pneumonia and not tobacco as the cause of death. And the tombstone man with his chisel says nothing at all. No matter where a boy may be, tobacco advertising reaches him, pleads with him and urges him to be a fool — to injure his health, decrease his hap- piness and shorten his life that the tobacco interests may gather more millions. — Luther Burbank in Dearborn Independent.