Flivver Flight

Alongside the giant transport planes, a Piper Cub looks like a gnat. A man can lift its tail with one hand, push it over with the other. On a fine summer's day, Cubs rise from the country's fields like a swarm of grasshoppers. Thousands of sportsmen, commuters, and joyriders use them for short hops between town and farm, home and hunting ground. Last week two young instructors from Maryland's College Park Airport proved that these flimsy air flivvers could also circle the world.

Flu & Palaces. The pilots were blond, boyish Clifford Evans, 27, an ex-A.A.F. pilot, and stubby, pot-bellied George Truman*, 39, a veteran flying instructor. Last summer they wangled two used Super Cruiser airframes from Piper Aircraft, engines from Lycoming, Gyrosyn compasses from Sperry and radio, equipment from Bendix. They ripped out the passenger seat behind the pilot's seat and installed 100-gallon tanks, packed in a few charts, radio spares, a can of dope (i.e., glue) for repairing the wing fabric, one good suit and a white shirt apiece. Early in August, they kissed their wives goodbye, promised to be back in a month or so, and took off from Teterboro, NJ.

They caught their share of bad weather and good parties, more than their share of good luck. They came down with flu in Greenland. They almost missed Iceland, got in just before the weather closed down tight. Their progress through Europe was slowed by sightseeing and weather (said Mrs. Evans: "He's going to have to make up some awfully good excuses").

In India, they ran into the Maharaja of Jodhpur's personal pilot. "Come on up to the palace," he said. "His Highness will be glad to have you." They went, in one of "H.H.'s" 125 automobiles, stayed two days. "You ought to see that place," said George. "Talk about Hollywood!"

Nobody but Americans. From Calcutta to Rangoon they had to stop at every good-sized rice paddy--George had picked up "Delhi belly." In Hanoi, a Frenchman told them not to bother about showing their passports, everybody knew "nobody but Americans would do a damn fool thing like this." They sat out a typhoon in Hong Kong, a binge and hangover at Amoy. Flying in loose formation, they worked out a bit of dialogue to pass the time on their long hops. Cliff: "We're lost, but we're making good time." George: "We're broke, but we're having a lotta fun." On their most hazardous leg, 1,600 miles over open water between Japan and Shemya (near Attu), they got an escort of Army B-17s.

Alaskan weather was tough. The little planes had no de-icing equipment. They hopped along the Aleutian chain and on down the Alaska Highway, taking chances all the way with dwindling daylight and freezing weather.

Last week, 2 1/2 months behind schedule, Pilots Truman and Evans landed at Van Nuys Airport outside Los Angeles. Their trip had covered 22,275 miles, cost $2,000 including gasoline and oil (which they bought on Esso credit cards). They were given a heroes' welcome. George got a haircut, Cliff a kiss from Miss Van Nuys of 1947 (see cut). Back in Washington, their wives, who had expected them in September, were a bit frosty. Wired Mrs. Truman to Mr. Truman: "You're the luckiest guy in the world to have a wife like me."

* No kin to Harry.

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