Eugene Ely's historic landing, 100 years ago

One hundred years ago Tuesday, Eugene Ely, a 26-year-old automobile racer-turned-aviator, landed a fragile-looking biplane on the deck of the Navy cruiser Pennsylvania in San Francisco Bay and made flying history.

It was the first time an airplane had landed on a warship, and it marked the start of naval aviation.

Ely, a civilian the newspapers called "a daring birdman," kissed his wife, saluted the officer of the deck, shook hands with the ship's captain, had a glass of nonalcoholic punch and took off again, bound for a landing field at what is now the Tanforan Shopping Center in San Bruno.

"I believe the performance of Ely spells a new chapter in aviation history," wrote Capt. Charles F. Pond, commanding officer of the Pennsylvania. "There can hardly be too much said in praise of it. It was simply marvelous."

Ely's flight, which came only seven years and one month after the Wright Brothers flew their first plane, was in every way historic. Though Ely had flown a plane from a Navy ship off Hampton Roads, Va., in 1910, no one had ever landed aboard a ship.

Self-assured pilot

Ely, a self-taught pilot who represented the Curtiss Airplane Co. was just the man for the job. "If I did not believe I could do it without injury to myself or my machine, I would not attempt it," he said.

The Curtiss firm had a primitive "flight deck" 130 feet long and 32 feet wide built on the stern of the Pennsylvania at Mare Island. Canvas screens were rigged on each side to catch the plane if it missed the deck. The major problem was how to stop the airplane, which would land at a speed of 50 or 60 mph.

The solution was to rig up 21 ropes across the deck, with a 50-pound sandbag attached to each end. The ropes were designed to catch a hook rigged under the plane and stop it - a primitive version of the tail hook system used on aircraft carriers today.

Well-promoted event

The Pennsylvania was anchored 300 yards off San Francisco's Folsom Street wharf, surrounded by small boats. The event was heavily advertised - it was part of a big air show in San Bruno - and a crowd of perhaps 75,000, "a vast multitude" the papers said, was on hand aboard boats and along the bay shoreline to see Ely's flight.

After warming up his Curtiss biplane - which resembled a bicycle or tricycle with wings - Ely took off from the San Bruno field at 11 a.m. He'd practiced on land over and over. "I was sure of success," he said later.

Just in case, though, he wore an improvised helmet and strapped two bicycle inner tubes over his shoulders to help him stay afloat in case he crashed in the water.

The day was overcast and hazy, the air full of coal smoke, and visibility was poor. Ely flew at about 1,200 feet over Hunters Point and then spotted the ship. The improvised flight deck "looks to a man in an aeroplane to be no larger than an ordinary plank in a floor," he said.

The landing

Ely had wanted to land into the wind, but the ship was anchored in such a way that he had to land with the wind on his tail, which was potentially dangerous.

He came in at a speed of about 60 mph. To the assembled multitude, it seemed easy.

"With a graceful dip and a final whir of the engines, the beautiful craft settled upon the platform with the ease of a feather which had been wafted by some stray air current," The Chronicle reported.

After the plane came to a halt, Ely saluted the officer of the deck. "Come aboard, sir?" he asked.

There must have been a thousand guests aboard the ship. After an hour, and a small reception in the officers' wardroom, Ely started the plane's engine again, "and with another graceful sweep, disappeared into the upper air currents ... (as) thousands of persons who lined the wharves and decks of steamers raised cheer upon cheer in a grand ovation to the nervy aviator," The Chronicle said.

When he landed back at San Bruno 15 minutes later, Ely was hailed as a hero by Army soldiers at the airfield.

A time of firsts

His feat had upstaged some Army flight demonstrations. A couple of days before, Army airmen had dropped explosives - said to be the first aerial bomb - and had sent radio messages to planes in the air, another first.

Pond praised Ely's flight as "marvelous" and "extraordinary," but also struck a cautious note. "To say what effect Ely's demonstration will have on naval development, of course," is debatable. "The necessity for having every ship equipped with an apparatus for receiving airships seems remote," he wrote.

Short-lived fame

Rear Adm. E.B. Barry, commander of the Pacific Fleet, thought flying machines would be useful for scouting, but little else. As for a plane attacking a warship, he noted that every warship carried U.S. Marine riflemen. "It seems unreasonable that the bird men could get close enough to become effective," the admiral said.

The Navy contracted to buy two Curtiss airplanes in May 1911, but did not commission an aircraft carrier until 1922.

Ely did not live to see naval aviation take flight. He was killed in a crash at an air show in October 1911, only nine months after he made history.

E-mail Carl Nolte at cnolte@sfchronicle.com.

This article appeared on page A - 1 of the San Francisco Chronicle