Bobby is the Founder of International Crop Duster's Day which is celebrated on May 27, 2010. Bob chose this specific date, as it is the day his good friend, Rocky Daly was killed in a mid air collision. Bob said, "The day evolved to honor those pilots who were considered "Crop Duster Pilots." zin those bygone days, we wore our helmets and goggles, strap pulled down over the top of the helmet to the drug store when we had time for a cup of coffee. Folks grinned an in good natured fun called out to us, here comes the raccoon faced duster pilots."
As International Crop Duster’s Day is approaching, just thought I would share a few memories with you old Stearman Crop Duster Pilots of the days and years gone by.
I’m sure you older pilots will agree with how good (?) those days were. Well anyway:
Early morning comes, and the board is full of jobs as the season is in full swing. So, I began with removing the tie-down ropes from the old Stearman, checking the oil, wipe the dew from the small piece of plexi-glass that we call the windshield, and the cushions, and slide into the cockpit. After the loader truck driver clears the oil from the cylinders with a few spins of the prop, he calls for “contact” and I switch on both magnetos, push the mixture forward, give the old primer a couple of shots, and call back, “Contact.” With a hearty leg swinging pull, the prop swings, the old 450 fires and springs to life, coughing a little smoke, and roars to life.
After a few minutes of warming up, checking the array of instruments, (Tach, oil pressure, manifold pressure, and temp gauges,) I taxi over to the runway where the loader truck is set up beside a truck load of 80 lb. fertilizer sacks.
Dismounting from the Stearman, talking with the farmer, and getting the flagmen lined up on where I’ll start the application, we’re ready to begin the day’s work.
Wiping my green lens in my goggles (AN6140) of course, and putting on my old surplus WWII cloth helmet, tucking the powder puffs over my ears, and buckling the strap under my chin, crawl back in the cockpit, and taxi over so the loader truck can load my first load of the day.
Loading the old stock wing Stearman with 1200 lbs. of fertilizer, I swing around and line up with the runway. Running up to 1500 RPM, checking the mags, everything is set to go, as I open the throttle, I glance behind to see the prop blast covering the loaders with dust, grass, and empty
sacks. Boy, I knew I was getting a cussing, but that’s the way it was on some of those narrow strips.
Roaring down the short strip, the old Pratt & Whitney seemed anxious to get into the air. Pulling the nose up, I got airborne and quickly assumed the flying attitude of a loaded stock- winger. Sometimes you thought you might have to stand up in the seat to see over the nose, but that’s how the old Stearman’s flew.
Anyway, as I got airborne and leveled out, I began to reduce my RPM’s and manifold pressure, only to find the throttle linkage, (you old-timers will remember the tube & bell crank linkage arrangement on the Stearman throttles) jammed in full throttle position. Boy, what a way to start the day. I begin a gentle turn to get back to the strip and line up for a full-load landing, touch down, cut the mixture, and warm up the brakes bringing the Stearman to a stop. Taxiing back to the loader truck, I swing the plane around and cut the engine off.
My loader driver knows the routine well, bringing a screwdriver over and begins to unscrew the zeus fittings and opens the cowl.
Once inside the cowl, a few minor twists and turns and a little oil on the bearings, the linkage frees up and seems to work properly.
We button up the cowl, crank up once again, and blast off, somewhat ticked at the lost time. Anyway, everything goes good all day, until about 3:00 p.m. Weather is getting hot, strips seem shorter, loads seem heavier, and the sun is hot on my red nose and lips, cooked from the sun. About this time in the season, we Stearman pilots look like raccoons, white around the eyes where the goggles fit, face tanned deeply, blistered nose, and blisters on our lips.
Well anyway, about three o’clock, I prepare to take off with a fresh load of fertilizer for another customer. Flag boys are already in the field, I’m loaded with gas, oil, and fertilizer, and blast off down the dusty strip.
Everything goes well, off the ground and turning towards the field preparing to ease back on the throttle when, all of a sudden, the leather prop seal decides its time to be replaced. Oil sprays back from the prop, covering my face with hot oil. Again, a quick turn back to the strip, a hot landing and taxi back to the loader truck and shut her down with oil dripping off everything.
This time, I borrow the farmer’s pickup and go to my base, get the mechanic, and prop tools and a new leather prop seal, and back to the Stearman. Now, if you’ve ever experienced this situation, you know how oily the Stearman becomes from a blown prop seal. After a while, the seal is replaced, the oil wiped off as good as could be, and the operations began again and again, over and over.
But one day, some FINE fellow discovered the push-pull cables, and they were fitted to the Stearmans and the stuck, hung, throttle linkage problem was solved. Then, a new type of prop seal was developed, neoprene seals forever stopping the blown-out, oil in the face, leather seals of WWII design. Gone were the days of washing oil-soaked cloth helmets and goggles.
Now, weren’t those the good old days? What could be worse than that? Ever had a buzzard come through the prop?