It's still difficult to even grasp the scale of the Second World War,
and I don't mean just in terms of soldiers, and armies, and battles, and of course casualties,
but I mean in terms of the huge scale of human effort that was involved in that war. For example,
just the Allies in the Second World War produced an estimated 733 million metric tons of steel
between 1939 and 1945. That's enough steel to make around 9,700 Golden Gate bridges, or more
than 13,500 Empire State building's, or if you prefer, just short of a hundred and five thousand
Eiffel Towers. Although of course, the Eiffel Tower is made out of iron, and not steel. All
the belligerents in the Second World War produced upwards of eight hundred sixty thousand aircraft,
and to understand what that means a recent estimate at the webpage airliners.com estimated
that there were just 69 thousand or so commercial, and military aircrafts operating today. That
doesn't include small private aircraft, but it shows you the huge difference of scale,
and the amount of aircraft that we are operating in the Second World War. And if you even think
about that more, each of those aircraft had tens of thousands of discrete parts, every one of which
had to find a manufacturer who could make that part. And a mistake in any one of those parts
could cause that airplane to fail, and to kill its crew. And that fact was brought poignantly home
on August 1st of 1943, in a little remembered accident that says much about the complexity
of manufacturing during the Second World War. It is history that deserves to be remembered.
The Weaver Aircraft Company of Ohio was incorporated in 1920. It would later be
renamed WACO, W. A. C. O. , for Weaver Aircraft Company. A fitting name in that the namesake,
George Weaver, better known as Buck, was an early aviation pioneer who had been an
instructor at Richfield in Waco Texas. The company made a number of different aircraft
that were generally quite popular. Between the wars, WACO's were registered more than
any other Aircraft Company. When the war started they continued making planes, notably biplanes,
that were used to train pilots in the US civilian pilots training program.
But by far their most famous and lucrative contract of the war was the WACO CG-4 combat
glider. The Germans had found success in the early war with combat gliders,
notably in their well executed assault on the Belgian port of Eben Emael in May of 1940, and the
Battle of Crete in 1941. The US had taken note, gliders had advantages over regular paratroops.
The soldiers ended up concentrated near a target rather than spread over the countryside, and the
gliders could also be used to transport cargo. When the US sought a design for a cargo glider,
the WACO design won. The beauty of the WACO design was that the entire nose lifted up,
allowing large cargo to be loaded easily. Construction of a fabric covered wood and metal
frame, the WACO CG-4 was the most widely used American troop cargo glider of the Second World
War. With a length of 48 feet eight inches, and a wingspan of 83 feet eight inches, the WACO CG-4
was designed to carry 13 fully equipped troops, or alternatively, four troops and a 1/4 ton jeep,
or 75 millimeter howitzer. While it was smaller than the British Airspeed Horsa,
and General Aircraft Hamilcar gliders, the smaller size allowed it to land in smaller places, making
it more useful in many combat circumstances. The WACO glider was a good example of the difficulty
of wartime production. The Army's need was large, eventually roughly 14,000 CG-4s were built, about
the same number as we build B-17 bombers. That was far more than a single contractor could build. At
its height, the WACO factory in Ohio could only produce some 50 gliders a month, and accounted
for only a little more than a thousand of the CG-4s produced. Moreover, the US was producing
a huge amount of war materiel. So much so that virtually every contractor in the country was
working on something. Contractors with experience building aircraft were particularly in demand,
and few were to be had. By far, the largest producer of the design was the Ford Motor Company
which produced some 4,000 CG-4s at their plant in Kingsford Michigan that had previously produced
the Woody Station Wagon. But Ford was busy building jeeps, tanks, and heavy bombers, and only
so much production could go to gliders. The Cessna Aircraft Company built another 750 in Wichita
Kansas. To meet demand, a number of companies with no previous experience in wartime production
took contracts to build the CG-4, including the Ward Furniture Company of Fort Smith Arkansas,
and Gibson Refrigerator of Greenville Illinois. Subcontractors making different pieces included
piano maker Steinway & Sons, beer manufacturer Anheuser-Busch, and the Heinz Pickle Company.
The construction wasn't as simple as you might think,
while it appeared to have a simple design, the blueprints for the CG-4A were 2,500 pages long,
and the entire glider included some 70,000 different parts. One of the many
primary contractors to build the CG-4A was the Robertson Aircraft Company of St. Louis Missouri.
William Robertson had been a flight instructor and the second lieutenant in the US Army Aviation
Corps during the First World War. After the war he joined his brother to start the Robertson
Aviation Corporation in St. Louis Missouri, which performed multiple aviation services,
especially airmail. Among their accomplishments was a contract to establish the first airmail
routes in China. But they were more famous for hiring a young pilot for their St. Louis to
Chicago airmail route named Charles Lindbergh. When Lindbergh decided to vie for the Orteig
prize for the first solo transatlantic flight, the Roberts secured the loan that allowed him to buy
his plane which he named, The Spirit of St. Louis. The Robertsons needed a place for their airmail to
take off, and partnered with another aviation pioneer, olympic golfer Albert Bond Lambert,
to found Lambert Field. Lambert sold the airport of the city of St. Louis in 1927,
and it became the nation's first municipal airport, now called St. Louis Lambert
International Airport. Despite their years of aviation and pilot services, Robertson's company
had never built aircraft. When in 1942, they and another St. Louis' firm, Laister-Kauffman,
were awarded contracts to build CG-4 gliders. Both companies struggled however, and by 1943
it appeared that both may lose their contracts. They were only saved because Robert P Patterson,
the US Under Secretary of War, decided it would be cheaper to continue all CG-4A contracts than
to cancel those of the poor producers. By the end of summer, Robinson was excited to show off
an all St. Louis made glider to the public. He held a demonstration on Sunday August 1st 1943,
at Lambert Field. A crowd of some 10,000 people gathered to watch the demonstration. As St.
Louis dignitaries, including the mayor, William D Becker, a harvard-educated lawyer and former judge
who had eliminated the city's patronage system in favor of merit-based hiring, and Thomas Dysart,
the president of the St. Louis Chamber of Commerce, who had been instrumental in seeking
solutions to St. Louis's air pollution problem, planned to ride in the combat glider along with
Robertson himself, just like troops practicing for D-Day. Local reporters said as Mayor Becker,
who himself was an airplane pilot whether he was concerned about the dangers of riding
in the military aircraft, the mayor was jovial, all smiles, “Gentlemen,” he said,
“They're asking our boys to use these things, why shouldn't we.” And then he joked,
“when our time comes to die, there isn't much we can do about it.” The mayor also answered
that he had never been in a glider before, although he had flown in many kinds of aircraft.
He told the press that his wife Margaret would be going along for the ride as well,
but it turned out that was against army regulations,
and she was among the thousands of spectators who were in the crowd.
The crowd enjoyed the show as a glider took six passengers, including Robertson's 17 year old
son on its first run. Towed by a Douglas C-47 it landed perfectly, piloted by Captain Milton Klug,
with flight mechanic Private First Class J M Davis, both of the 71st Troop Carrier Command of
the US Army Air Force. Mayor Becker gave a short speech, urging people to buy more war bonds. On
the plane in addition to Robertson, Mayor Becker, and Thomas Dysart were Henry L Mueller, presiding
judge of the St. Louis County Court, City Public Utilities Director Max Doyne, Deputy Comptroller
Charles Cunningham, Harold Kruger Vice President and Chief Engineer of Robertson aircraft, and
Army Air Force Lieutenant Colonel Paul Hazelwood. With the pilot and engineer, in all there were 10
people on the second run. The glider and plane took off just as they had on the earlier ride,
and climbed to about 1500 feet. The plane and glider circled the field twice as the crowd
applauded. At 3:55 p.m. Captain Klug radioed that he was going to pull up to release. On the ground,
the announcer said over the loudspeaker, “Now watch the glider!” As the glider released,
the crowd gasped. As the St. Louis Post dispatch reported at the time, a moment after the release,
the right wing of the glider was observed to buckle and break free from the body of
the ship. A witness said that the crowd was confused, thinking this was some sort of stunt
for their amusement. To their horror, the glider turned nose down and plummeted to the ground,
hitting with what was described as a thud, as women in the crowd shrieked,
and several fainted. The New York Times reported that when it struck the ground,
debris and bodies flew 50 feet in the air. All ten aboard died in the crash instantly.
In accordance with the city charter, Mayor Becker was replaced by the Chairman of the
Board Aloys Kauffman, who completed Becker's term and was elected to a term of his own
in 1945. He was the last republican to be elected mayor of the city of St. Louis. Among
his accomplishments was passing a bond issue that allowed the expansion of Lambert Airport.
An investigation found that the fault was in the wing strut end,
which was used to bolt the bottom of the strut that supported the wing to
the floor of the fuselage. Manufactured by a subcontractor, the Gardner Metal Products Company,
whose primary business was making metal caskets, it was machined from a solid piece of metal,
and regulations said that the finished thickness was not to be less than eleven thirty seconds of
an inch. Investigators found that the broken piece was less than two thirty-seconds of an
inch. The part had been strong enough to hold for the first flight, but may have
already been cracked or damaged before the second takeoff. The investigation found that the person
responsible for inspecting the part had little training, did not know the parts importance,
and had no tool to measure the parts thickness. It was part number 2.8.207, of the nearly 70,000
individual parts that were used to construct just this one piece of military equipment.
After the accidents all the gliders that had been built by the Robertson Aircraft Company,
and Laister-Kaufman were grounded until they could be inspected. And nearly a
quarter of the wing strut ends had proven to be defective, all made by the same company,
which ironically normally made coffins. A grand jury censured the Robertson Aircraft Company,
but filed no criminal charges. The army changed the way that it managed contractors
and subcontractors as a result of this accident. Specifically giving more training to inspectors,
and providing them with appropriate measurement tools, although there were still problems with
quality control among the tens of thousands of contractors and subcontractors working in the
nation on military contracts. The changes that came about as a result of this accident might
have saved hundreds of soldiers' lives. On the stair between the first and second level of the
St. Louis City Hall, there is a memorial to the ten men who died. At the bottom it reads,
“Dulce et decorum s pro patria mori”, Latin for, it is sweet and fitting to die for one's
country. The victims of the 1943 St. Louis glider accident, deserve to be remembered.
I’m the History Guy. I hope you enjoyed this edition of my series of short snippets of
forgotten history about ten minutes long. And if you did enjoy it, please go ahead and click
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