The B'nai B'rith magazine · 1927-07-01 · 10 (7.1927) · p. Seite 417

The Jew and Aviation By Zelda F. Popkin ORE than thirty years passed between the day when Otto Lilienthal lay crushed under his twisted bird wings in a little village near Berlin, and the morning when Charles Levine, his co-religionist, came down triumphant and weary, with one propeller of his trans-Atlantic plane broken, in a marsh twenty miles or a little more from the scene of that other pioneer airman's triumph - and defeat. Thirty years, in which the science of aviation has advanced from the dreams of the world's glorious madmen to the incredible triumphs of reality. A decade and a half, during which Jewish wealth, Jewish ingenuity and Jewish courage have been lavishly contributed to the advance of aeronautics. When Charles A. Levine of Brooklyn, financial backer of the trans- Atlantic flight of the Columbia and the first passenger to cross the Atlantic Ocean in an aeroplane, arrived in Germany with Clarence Chamberlin, his pilot, the world's record for non-stop flight had been broken. In Berlin, Levine and Chamberlin were welcomed by the Minister of Transportation and Air Navigation, Herr Koch. In his address of welcome the Minister paid tribute to Otto Lilienthal, as the "father of flying" who opened the road that led to the "testing fields" of Orville and Wilbur Wright. A few miles away at Lichterfeld there was a stone figure with outstretched arms, a monument commemorating the Jew who was the "father of flying." By a coincidence equally striking, while Chamberlin and Levine were winging their way across the Atlantic, in New York City the title of "foster father of commercial aviation" was being bestowed upon Daniel Guggenheim at the dedication of the $500,000 building of the new School of Aeronautics of New York University, a building made possible through a gift of several millions from this philanthropist. Two important chapters were being written into the record of the Jew and aviation. The name of Otto Lilienthal is the first that comes to mind in the story of the Jew and aviation, for his was a definite achievement based upon scientific research. Otto Lilienthal was not the first man to attempt the conquest of the air. There is, back in Greek mythology, the story of Icarus and his waxen wings—Icarus who flew too close to the sun so that his wings melted. But Otto Lilienthal was a pioneer whose venturings opened the way for progress. He was the first man to prove that it was possible for man to fly in a heavier than air machine. This he demonstrated more than a thousand times—with recklessness and daring. He gave up his life 417 y\ BOVE—Crowds at Templehoff Field, Berlin, around the plane Columbia, after Chamberlin and Levine flew in from Kottbus, their second landing place in Germany. To the left the flyers are seen just before they took off on their historic voyage. in a practice flight in August, 1896. But he had flown for more than one hundred yards at an altitude of seventy-five feet. Otto Lilienthal was born May 23, 1848 in Anklau. From his father, who was an engineer, he received a mechanical training. If he had had his own way, he would have been a sculptor. He was a dreamer—one of those visionaries who substitute for that thing we call "common sense," a divine madness that once in a while proves to be genius. The boy Otto Lilienthal was fascinated with the flight of birds. He spent hours watching the storks on the roof-tops. He received scoldings for wasting his time, but made valuable observations which later he turned to practical use. Being a good son, Otto went to trade school in Berlin and later went to work in an engineering shop. In 1850 he opened his own factory and from several inventions developed in this factory, amassed considerable wealth. Lilienthal took up flying for relaxation, until like many hobbies, it filled his thoughts and occupied all his time. All of his mathematical and engineering skill, and the aid of his brother, Gustav, too, went into the making of his flying machine. It consisted of a pair of bird wings with a strip of wood between, from which he hung with arms outstretched and feet suspended. His arms operated the wings. His legs maintained equilibrium. With this machine he leaped