Arms & Men at Continental

Four years ago Continental Airlines, a carrier winging westward from Chicago, ruffled some bigger birds in the industry by introducing jet "economy" air fares 20% below coach rates. That blue-yonder experiment helped to attract so many customers that Continental increased its revenues from $63 million in 1961 to last year's $117 million, and other lines quickly followed with an odd lot of special rates. Last week Continental was trying to pare fares again. It asked Civil Aeronautics Board permission to introduce nighttime "adult stand-by fares" one-third cheaper than the economy fare. For any passenger willing to wait for a seat on a space-available basis starting at 9:35 p.m., a one-way Chicago-Los Angeles ticket, for example, would cost $60 instead of $90.

Lately the line has been advancing in several other directions. Last month a CAB examiner recommended that Continental and two other lines be granted the Pacific Northwest-to-Southwest routes, the last major runs in the U.S. still without through air service. Last week the Pentagon announced that Continental's minimum-guarantee contract to airlift troops to Viet Nam would be increased fourfold, to $30 million in 1967. And Los Angeles-based Continental announced a $64 million order for ten more jets. In all, Continental is investing $196 million to add 30 planes by 1968, doubling the size of its jet fleet.

Stealing Second Base. Continental's celerity is largely the work of its longtime (since 1938) President Robert Forman Six, a onetime merchant seaman who built the airline up from a puddle jumper. Six, 58, is a theatrical sort whose three marriages--to a California socialite, Actresses Ethel Merman and Audrey Meadows, his present wife--created a standard gag at Continental: "Bob is batting .500. Three for Six." With a flair for gaudy promotion, he has equipped his golden-tailed jets with golden toilet seats. His public-relations men once hired two dozen dwarfs, dressed them in golden space suits and sent them romping through hotel lobbies in a promotion stunt; another time, the p.r. men tried to "kidnap" a Chicago White Sox second baseman from a helicopter.

Six is also an audacious salesman whose knack for stretching a dollar impresses the investment bankers and makes him worth his annual salary of $132,000, second highest in the industry (after Pan Am Chairman Juan Trippe). Under Six, Continental has adopted "perpetual maintenance," a system that substitutes frequent brief overhauls for long layovers in the shop, helping to raise daily operating time of its aircraft to as much as 17 hours, well above the industry's norms. Six has been able to recruit outstanding executives. For seven years his No. 2 man was Harding Lawrence, now the successful president of Braniff. Last year Six hired Pierre Salinger, the former presidential press secretary who, as Continental's vice president for international affairs, certainly has not hurt its drive for U.S. Government business.

Knock Wood. Because Continental eagerly chased such business when some other lines were hesitant, its wholly owned subsidiary, Continental Air Services, has built a considerable enterprise in South Viet Nam, Laos and Thailand, where it is second in activity only to Air America (TIME, June 3). Its motley of 42 planes airlifts rice to Meo tribesmen beleaguered by Red rebels and might just be flying arms and men for the CIA and the Pentagon. Says Salinger dryly: "In Viet Nam we fly personnel and supplies around the country. Some of the landing strips aren't very far from the Viet Cong operations, but so far--knock wood--we haven't had any planes involved in military operations."

Bob Six obviously wants his line to get all the experience it can in the Pacific--and to impress the U.S. Government favorably--in hopes of capturing a piece of the promising civilian business there. Figuring that nonmilitary traffic across the Pacific will continue to boom, Continental has applied for several routes from the U.S. fanning across the ocean to New Zealand and Korea. The awards will be decided, probably not before 1968, by the one man most concerned with performance in Viet Nam: the President of the U.S.

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