A tremendous visionary, aviation engineer Jack Northrop's designs consistently pushed the envelope. In the late 1920's, he built an aircraft for Avion Co. that had a pusher engine and a radically diminutive tail structure -- so minimal that observers called the plane a "flying wing". Problems with the design kept it from production and led to the dissolution of Avion, but Northrop didn't give up. In 1939, he set up a new company, Northrop Aircraft, to build a more advanced design, the N-1.

In 1942 Northrop built the N-9M, a 60-foot tailless "flying wing" equipped with two propeller-driven, air-cooled pusher engines. It served as proof of concept for a gigantic, 172-foot wide bomber designated XB-35. "It was a beautiful concept," remembers Bob Cardenas, who first learned of the plane around 1946. "In a regular airplane you have a wing. You attach a fuselage. A fuselage is where you're carrying all the weight. So the wing's spar, that's holding that fuselage, has to be a very large, and very heavy structure. When you remove the fuselage and the tail, the total wing surface is all lift. You can go anywhere in the world in that airplane."

What a different 20 years makes! Above photo: The Northrop-designed Avion in flight, with pusher propeller, circa 1929. Photo below: The gigantic YB-49 takes off from the Northrop plant, circa 1948.

The range of the XB-35 intrigued military planners, who imagined that a prolonged war with Germany or Japan might require extreme long-range bombers. At one point in 1943, over 200 of the planes were on order; but problems encountered during the N-9M test program, including a fatal accident, eventually led to cancellation of the contract. Nevertheless an experimental program continued, and an XB-35 eventually flew in June of '46. By then, the Air Force had been persuaded to extend a contract for a jet-powered version of the plane, the YB-49. For Bob Cardenas, being assigned as chief test pilot on the YB-49 program initially seemed like a dream come true. The airplane itself represented a terrific leap forward in aviation technology. "As a test pilot of so-called 'X planes'," Cardenas remembers, "I probably flew about a dozen -- not on their first flights mind you. The one that of course caused me the most grief was the YB-49. I started first with the little N-9M propeller job. I learned that it had some different characteristics. In a normal airplane, you shove the right rudder, and you turn to the right. In a flying wing, you shove in the right rudder. and you're turning about the tip. So you have to coordinate the ailerons, elevons, with your rudder to get the proper turn. When you catch on, it's not much different."

What did give Cardenas pause, and what made him begin to believe the YB-49 might be an aircraft ahead of its time, was the plane's instability. "One of the first things you have to do (in a flight test program)," he explains, "is find out at what speeds it stalls. When an airplane stalls normally, the wing ceases giving you lift, and it falls off. You get a little turbulence. I knew (in the YB-49) I wouldn't get too much, cause the airplane had no tail. So, I was waiting for the slight buffet. But instead of that it gave a lurch and it went over backwards. And it started tumbling backwards." As the huge plane flipped end over end, Cardenas and his co-pilot Danny Forbes had their hands pinned to the ceiling by tremendous G-forces. The plane was completely out of control, and headed for the ground.

Fortunately for the test pilots, the YB-49 wasn't an ordinary airplane. For one thing, there were throttles located above the pilot, near the cockpit ceiling. "Although my rear end was off the seat," Cardenas recalls, "I was able to reach the left throttle and apply 100 percent power for engines on the left side." That did the trick: once the airplane had power on the left side, the airplane cartwheeled into a recoverable spin.

"When I landed from that flight," Bob Cardenas remembers, "I wrote a one page report: the aircraft is never to be intentionally stalled."

Bob Cardenas' one page report (see previous Production Journal entry) about the YB-49's stall problem should have sealed the YB-49�s fate, but Northrop and the Pentagon felt the issue could be fixed. The program continued. In 1949, at the behest of Northrop and President Truman, Cardenas was ordered to fly the plane from Muroc to Andrews AFB. "We parked it on a ramp by the B-36 (Peacekeeper), and Truman came into the cockpit," Cardenas says. "He looked around. He was a pretty crusty old guy. He said, 'Looks pretty f---ing good to me. I think I'm going to buy some of these.'"

Truman ordered Cardenas and his co-pilot to fly down Pennsylvania Avenue, so that Congress could see what they were going to be buying. "I was sure that they wouldn't make me do it," Cardenas recalls. "But (Cmdr. Al) Boyd got ahold of me and he said, 'Bob, you've got to do it. Slow it down a little bit.' So, I flew down Pennsylvania Avenue. And, I did slow it down, to about 300 miles an hour. But, I had never really realized how heavily forested the city of Washington is. I would lose it amongst the trees. Suddenly, I looked up and the Capitol dome was dead ahead! I had to pull up to go over it."

Photo: Snapped by a tourist, this is the one and only known photo of the YB-49 flying over the Capitol building. (That is, unless you see the 1953 movie "War of the Worlds" which features the bomber in combat against UFOs in the skies above Washington!)

On the way back from Washington, over the Rocky Mountains, a fire broke out in the number six engine, and then in number three. The nearest airport that could accommodate the plane was in Winslow, Arizona -- and just barely. The runway was 50 feet wide, and the YB-49 had a 42-foot wide landing gear arrangement. By the time he made his approach, only two of the massive bomber�s engines were functioning. Fortunately, he made a solid landing, and the fires were extinguished. (Turning the plane around so it could take off, after it was repaired, took quite a bit of work!)

The Winslow flight soured Cardenas on the YB-49 program, and convinced him that the time had come to leave and finish his aeronautical engineering degree at USC. His hand-picked replacement was a friend, Glen Edwards. "Glen was a combat pilot in North Africa," says Cardenas. "He was extremely intelligent. He helped Dr. Perkins at Princeton write the book on stability and control. He was a good test pilot."

But Glen Edwards' skills could not save him from disaster: on June 5, 1948, the Flying Wing crashed killing Edwards, Danny Forbes, and three other crewmen. "On the way down to San Diego," Cardenas remembers, his voice slightly shaky. "I heard on the radio it crashed. I did a 180, and went back." Col. Al Boyd assigned Cardenas to the accident investigation team. It didn't take long for Cardenas to realize that, at the time of the incident, Edwards was attempting a stall maneuver -- the very kind of maneuver Cardenas'd warned against.

"Glen Edwards knew that," says Cardenas, "I talked with him about it." Why had Edwards done it anyway? It's pure speculation, of course, but it's clear that the plane's instability issues made it susceptible to cancellation. Northrop's engineers had probably persuaded Edwards that, with proper testing, he could find a way around the aircraft's handling problems.

Five men were dead, and one of the two YB-49 prototypes was destroyed. A long investigation followed, and a Congressional hearing. In 1950, the entire program was canceled.

Cardenas paid a heavy price for his criticism of the failed aircraft, but he felt it was his duty as an Air Force officer to tell the facts as he saw them. While many in the aviation community point to a conspiracy surrounding the cancellation of the YB-49, and the advent of the B-2 Stealth bomber as proof of the concept, Cardenas is quick to point out that modern technology, such as computer stabilization, keep the B-2 airborne. Such things simply did not exist in the world of the 1950's.

In 1949, Muroc Air Force Base was renamed in honor of Glen Edwards. As part of our documentary interviews, Amanda Pope asked Bob Cardenas to share some memories of the man. "He could really cook," replied Cardenas, with a smile on his face. "As a dancer he could have matched Fred Astaire -- all the women wanted to dance with Glen. I sorely miss him. I think it's a good choice that they named the base after him. Because he was a consummate test pilot."

Photo: Bob Cardenas (left) with Glen Edwards, shortly before he was tragically killed in the crash of the YB-49.

Coming up next in the production journal: Bob Cardenas remembers Pancho Barnes, and Pancho's own memories of Glen Edwards.

Brig. Gen. Robert "Bob" Cardenas flew B-24 Liberators on combat missions over Germany during WWII, worked as a test pilot for the Air Force during the Cold War, flew F-105s over Northern Vietnam, and was so important to the shaping of the Special Forces that he was elected to the Air Commando Hall of Fame. If he wore a military uniform — he doesn't nowadays because he is blissfully retired and a Hawaiian shirt is more his style — the chest would be obscured by various medals, from the Purple Heart to the Air Medal, Distinguished Flying Cross, Distinguished Service Medal, and more. All of these honors, for a guy born in Yucatan, Mexico, who didn't come to the United States until he was five, and who never dreamed he'd go to college, much less succeed like he did. He's the embodiment of what some would call the American Dream.

Photo: Bob Cardenas interviewed by Amanda Pope at the Allen Airways Flying Museum

Bob Cardenas' affiliation with flight test began right after WWII, when as part of a special assessment effort he flew the captured German Me-262 jet fighter and Arado 234 bomber. The place for all this flying was a remote facility located near the Rogers Dry Lake, called Muroc AFB. In 1947, Cardenas — by now well known for his skills flying a multi-engine bomber — was entrusted with the task of piloting the B-29 mothership for the X-1 supersonic rocket plane tests. His co-pilot was Jackie Ridley, the brilliant young engineer who receives a great deal of credit for his insights into the problems of compressibility.

Taking off with the X-1 strapped under the belly of a B-29 bomber might sound a bit hairy — after all the rocket plane was full of volatile fuel — but Cardenas recalled in our interview that take-offs were the least of his worries. "On takeoff," he recalled, "I would have 10 inches between the belly of the X1 and the concrete and it’s loaded with 600 gallons of liquid oxygen. I can’t raise the nose wheel too much or I’ll scrape it, but that was not a problem cause I had a long runway. My one nightmare," he continued, " was, what would happen if I said drop and the X-1 would not drop? I would have to land with that thing hanging on."

Photo: The X-1 team including l-r Ed Swindell (flight engineer), Bob Hoover (back-up and chase pilot), Chuck Yeager (pilot) and far right Jackie Ridley (B-29 co-pilot and project engineer).

A lot of worst case things that happen during a flight test program are predictable — Murphy's Law was in fact coined at Edwards AFB — and as it happened Cardenas' worst nightmare did come true. "This one particular flight," he remembers, "I said 'drop', and Jackie hit the lever — and it didn’t drop."

There followed some nervous minutes. Chuck Yeager, who was already strapped into the X-1 and ready to fly, decided to stay in position, in case it fell free. Meanwhile he offloaded fuel from the ship. Cardenas took the B-29 down to about 5000 feet. At that point Yeager climbed out of the rocket ship and back into the B-29. Now, Ridley and Cardenas made their final approach. Either they'd make a good landing, or they wouldn't have to pay for cremation much less burial!

"I went in and I made the landing," Cardenas remembers. "And it was probably the best landing I’ve ever made in any airplane. I did not even hear the rubber screech - the plane kind of rolled on in. So we made it."

After the sound barrier was broken, Cardenas flew the XB-46 jet bomber and a host of other experimental aircraft. A real challenge lay ahead, however, one that would not only change Cardenas' life, but the history of aviation, and Muroc itself. Stay tuned ... for the next journal.

Photo (left above): The underside of the B-29 shows how tricky a landing with the X-1 could be!

Pancho Barnes may not have been involved in Amelia Earhart's flight around the world in 1937 — by then Pancho's own flying days were behind her — but she was friends with the aviatrix, her navigator Fred Noonan, and her consultant, Paul Mantz. In the late 20's and 30's, Earhart maintained a house in North Hollywood, and Pancho remembered visiting it frequently. According to Pancho, Amelia Earhart's mother — who incidentally claimed to be the first woman ever to scale Pike's Peak — used to babysit Pancho's son Billy, so that she and Amelia could socialize.

Photo: Barnes, Earhart, and Gladys O'Donnell

Pancho had her own take on Amelia Earhart's disappearance, and while much of it is of the "second hand" variety, it's also somewhat intriguing. According to Pancho, Paul Mantz confided in her that he did not believe Earhart was as disciplined a pilot as she should have been. "Paul found out that she couldn’t use her fuel analyzer very well," Pancho recounted. "She was indifferent to it. She didn’t try hard enough. She was a little bit lazy about it." If Earhart had calculated her fuel mixture incorrectly, she would have harmed her plane's performance and endurance. " If you have a proper mixture control..." explained Pancho, " if you go up on say 10,000 feet, you’d get a better performance out of it and burn less gas, if you could rarify the carburetor to where it wasn’t as heavy a mixture. So she didn’t know how to do this. She didn’t have enough on the ball, to keep her doing it right. Now that is what killed her, probably. Cause she ran out of gas 200 miles before she got to Howland Island."

Another aspect of the disappearance that is often pointed to is Earhart's navigator, Fred Noonan, who detractors labeled as an alcoholic. Pancho, however, held Noonan in high regard. "She had the best navigator in the whole — that they could find anywhere," Pancho explained. "Probably the finest navigator in the world. And [Noonan] was also an instructor." In Pancho's mind, two factors were really responsible for Earhart's loss. One was her failure to mix her fuel properly. In the trackless Pacific, misjudging fuel use can be and perhaps was fatal.

Still, Earhart and Noonan might have been able to ditch, and could have been picked up, if it hadn't of been for another problem. That is the other factor Pancho pointed to — the lack of radio communication between AE and Coast Guard personnel during the ill-fated trip. Earhart simply did not respond to the Coast Guard messages. According to Pancho, Earhart's ventral or belly antenna had been severed during her take-off from Lae. (See the TIGHAR website mentioned in Part 1 about this).

Photo: Earhart and Fred Noonan on the World Flight, 1937.

In any case, while most of her discussion about Earhart falls into the realm of conjecture, Pancho did share one interesting tidbit that may give some insight into AE, and may be "fresh" information. It's well known that, in those days, publicity counted. According to Pancho, few understood this the way Earhart and Putnam did. Had she made it back to Los Angeles, Pancho believed, it would have been without her navigator. According to Pancho, "She was going to leave Noonan [in Hawaii]. She told me herself she wanted to arrive alone in the airplane. She was going to kick Noonan off, because she’d made that flight once in the airplane and it was pretty easy to hit the mainland."

At the time Pancho spoke about Earhart, new revelations had just come to light in the form of a book, "Amelia Earhart Lives". In it, a woman named Irene Bolam was purported to be AE. The book, which has now been completely debunked, made headlines. Another book, "The Search for Amelia Earhart", made the New York Times best seller list. Pancho was dismissive of both. "It's all bullsh*t," she explained. "It’s all just to make money. It’s a lot of - it’s just all dreams."

Photo: Statue of Amelia Earhart, located in North Hollywood, near where Earhart lived and worked. Courtesy of the great J. Ron Dickson, whose website has an aviation history of the San Fernando Valley. Click here

If one individual embodies the spirit of the female aviators of the twenties, that person would be Amelia Earhart. Often called simply by her initials "AE" — or by the moniker "the Lady Lindy" — Earhart's achievements in the air were without parallel. Her initial brush with fame came about in 1928 as a result of her becoming the first woman to cross the Atlantic by air. She did not make the crossing as a pilot, however, but as a passenger. That might have exposed her to ridicule from various circles, but Earhart backed herself up with real achievements. She flew in the Powder Puff Derby of 1929, set air speed and altitude records, and in 1932 she crossed the Atlantic solo — the first person to do so after Lindbergh. For that feat she received the Distinguished Flying Cross.

Pancho Barnes met Amelia Earhart at the Powder Puff Derby, and while the two probably could not be characterized as close friends, they did get together socially. Pancho recounted Earhart calling her and visiting with her on a number of occasions. In July of 1932, when AE visited Los Angeles (on the occasion of completing her Atlantic solo), Pancho organized a celebratory banquet for her. Five years later almost to the day, Amelia would be missing. Her disappearance remains one of the great mysteries of 20th Century aviation history.

Photo: Pancho Barnes, Elizabeth McQueen, and AE at Clover Field in Santa Monica, 1929. Behind them is AE's Lockheed Vega.

In the 1970s, Pancho made a few speeches, and granted several interviews about her own life and career. Inevitably, the subject of Amelia Earhart came up. Pancho spoke forthrightly about her rival, noting that in her opinion Earhart initially was "a lousy pilot" who became an aviatrix only because her husband George Putnam "kept pushing her through." She recounted that, at the time Earhart flew the Atlantic in 1928, she really didn't know how to fly. "Frank Tomick, who was one of our motion picture pilots," Pancho told an interviewer, "taught her to fly after she made that flight."

In Pancho's opinion, Amelia Earhart and the legend surrounding her were the creation of Earhart's husband, George Putnam. "She was a publicity figure for him," said Pancho. "That’s what he hired her for."

Nevertheless, Pancho admired AE's accomplishments and her personality. She repeatedly said, though, that in her estimation Earhart had one flaw — she thought she was unbreakable. "She had to have this faith," Pancho noted. "She thought nothing could ever happen to her. She really thought that. And then eventually, you know, she did everything wrong about this flight around the world."

In March of 1937, Amelia Earhart set off to on the first leg of her world flight, travelling from Oakland to Honolulu in her Lockheed Electra. During departure from Luke Field, the Electra ground-looped, and the attempt was put on hold. "So she tried this going around the world once and she got as far as Honolulu," Pancho remembered, "and tried to take off and cracked up on the take-off. And once she came back I told her, I said, 'Why don’t you give it up Amelia, just quit?' No, she was going to be the first woman to fly around the world. Anyway, Paul Mantz rebuilt the plane. [Earhart and navigator Fred Noonan] started flying around the world in the other direction." They made it about two thirds of the way, to Lae in the Pacific, before the Electra vanished.

Pancho told her own version of the events of July 2, 1937, when Earhart and Noonan disappeared. It's hard to know if it's an accurate telling of events — but of course anyone who has done any reading about the disappearance will tell you it's nearly impossible to sort fact from fiction! (A good website to read about the continuing controversy and on-going efforts to solve the mystery is The Earhart Project)

According to Pancho, her friends in the Army Air Force were monitoring Amelia Earhart's radio transmissions on that fateful day, and keeping Pancho abreast of her whereabouts. "She was on the radio," Pancho told an interviewer. "The Navy didn’t pick her up, but the [Army] Air Force, who were just tracking her from an interest point — in other words it was none of their business but they were just curious and interested and enjoyed doing it — they were tracking her. And they picked her up. And she radioed that she was running out of gas 200 miles short of Howland Island and she was gonna have to ditch the ship. And they phoned me. She actually crashed about 7 o’clock in the morning. So they phoned me about 8 or 9 o’clock and told me she had crashed. And I said, 'Gee is there anybody out there looking for her?' They said, 'Don’t worry about it Pancho. She had the radio on when she crashed. We heard her crash. We heard her scream, and I don’t think — they said — they won’t find her. Now, I knew this a couple of hours after she crashed. And nobody knew it yet. The Navy didn’t know it. The news didn’t know it. Nobody knew it. But I knew it."

Pancho had her own opinion about what went wrong, which I'll get to, in a future Production Journal. Stay tuned!