I like aviation for several reasons. For one, the history of aviation is a fascinating entanglement of history, technological change, and cultural transformation. The century following the first powered flight in 1903 was one of immense change on many levels: the development and growth of aviation articulated with economics, politics, conflict, communication, science, and many other aspects of that change. Powered flight was and is a big deal.
That is my analytical interest. On a more visceral level, flying and the technologies we use to fly exert an emotional gravity on me. I just like airplanes. Period.
That is my analytical interest. On a more visceral level, flying and the technologies we use to fly exert an emotional gravity on me. I just like airplanes. Period.
This weekend I went to the annual air show held at Willow Run Airport in Ypsilanti, Michigan. The “war bird” show at Willow Run traditionally leans toward World War II-era combat aircraft (both flying and on static display). There were a lot of interesting things to see and think about at this show, both in terms of the aircraft that were present and the cultural dimensions of what was going on. I can think of a few other kinds of events where large numbers of people gather to look at examples of obsolete technology (car shows come to mind first), but it is kind of an odd practice if you think about it. Why does this happen? What attracts us to celebrate specific classes of technological artifacts but not others? It clearly isn’t just “impact factor:” the rise of computer/digital technology has had an astounding impact on the world, but we don’t gather annually to watch a TRS-80 saving a file to cassette tape or to listen to the hum of a Commodore 64 booting up (or maybe "we" do but I don't -- I'm prepared to be proven wrong on this).
Based on the conversations that I heard around me, many people at the air show weren’t there because they knew a lot of aviation history or cared about the technical specifics of what made a particular aircraft “interesting” or "significant." Sure, many people (myself included) probably were there at least partially because of some technical or historical interest. But I think that air shows exist as a cultural phenomenon because people connect with something that is kinetic, dynamic, and beautiful in these machines. Or at least some of these machines. I’ll try to illustrate my point with a comparison of what I saw in the reaction of the crowd to two different aircraft: a B-17 (beautiful) and a B-24 (not beautiful).
Based on the conversations that I heard around me, many people at the air show weren’t there because they knew a lot of aviation history or cared about the technical specifics of what made a particular aircraft “interesting” or "significant." Sure, many people (myself included) probably were there at least partially because of some technical or historical interest. But I think that air shows exist as a cultural phenomenon because people connect with something that is kinetic, dynamic, and beautiful in these machines. Or at least some of these machines. I’ll try to illustrate my point with a comparison of what I saw in the reaction of the crowd to two different aircraft: a B-17 (beautiful) and a B-24 (not beautiful).
The B-17 “Flying Fortress” (top schematic) and the B-24 “Liberator” (bottom schematic) were large, four-engine heavy bombers of World War II. Both were very important in the narrative arc of the war. I would say the B-17 is the better known of the two. One could argue, however, that the B-24 was more “important:” it was produced in significantly greater numbers than the B-17, was faster, and had a greater range. It was used in both theaters of the war. The B-24 is an especially significant aircraft in terms of the cultural heritage of southeastern Michigan: the plant created to build the bomber at Willow Run was the largest industrial manufacturing facility in the world at the time and helped shaped the history and identity of this region. This is the land of Rosie the Riveter and key elements of the Arsenal of Democracy.
Of over 18,000 built, there are only two remaining airworthy B-24s. One of them was at this year’s air show at Willow Run. Seeing it fly was one of the reasons I went. It flew. I saw it. I expected to be thrilled, but I was not. It was kind of boring. I think many of those around me felt the same way. No matter how much excitement the announcer tried to drum up, it seemed to a lot of the crowd like a good time to visit the port-o-john or fetch more lemonade. Why? Why did the sight of one of the last surviving examples of this immensely important aircraft produce such a big collective yawn? I’ll tell you what I think: I think it’s because it is ugly. This aircraft is a collage of mismatched features that, while perhaps important to its functional characteristics, make it an aesthetic nightmare. The long, slender wing (which helped the B-24 achieve its great range) is married to a fuselage that looks like a cement truck. Somehow the aircraft appears both clunky and fragile, like it could break apart at any moment just from the stresses imposed by its own homeliness. It's ugly.
The B-17, in contrast, is a beautiful aircraft. First flown in 1935, it is to aviation what the Chrysler Building is to architecture: a bold Art Deco icon that exudes power, grace, solidity, symmetry, unity, modernity, purpose. The aircraft that is flown by the Yankee Air Museum out of Willow Run is meticulously restored and polished, gleaming like a diamond. The four large radial engines (each with 9 cylinders of 202 cubic inch displacement and 0 mufflers) produce a fantastic rumble that is audible from miles away. The aircraft played an important role in history, but it is a crowd-pleaser because of the way it looks and sounds. Because of the way it makes you feel. Because it is beautiful. (Here is some video I put on YouTube - it doesn't do the sound justice; you just have to hear it live).
I’m guessing many people have thought/written about the emotional connections (or lack thereof) between human cultures and their technologies, so I would be surprised if I’m saying anything new here. It would be interesting to try to understand why we connect emotionally with some machines and not others, why some machines emerge as icons or symbols and some do not, and how that affects technological change. It isn’t all in the historical significance or the minutia of what constitutes innovation or improvement. Those things may play a role, but there are aspects of human cultural affection that I don’t think you can ignore. Technological development is a human enterprise.
Finally, I’m sorry if I offended anyone by saying the B-24 is ugly. But that’s my opinion and I’m sticking to it. If it makes you feel any better, I think the Bell P-63 Kingcobra is even uglier. There are only four of those left flying, one of which was at Willow Run this weekend. Interesting aircraft with an interesting history; emotional appeal of concrete.
I’m guessing many people have thought/written about the emotional connections (or lack thereof) between human cultures and their technologies, so I would be surprised if I’m saying anything new here. It would be interesting to try to understand why we connect emotionally with some machines and not others, why some machines emerge as icons or symbols and some do not, and how that affects technological change. It isn’t all in the historical significance or the minutia of what constitutes innovation or improvement. Those things may play a role, but there are aspects of human cultural affection that I don’t think you can ignore. Technological development is a human enterprise.
Finally, I’m sorry if I offended anyone by saying the B-24 is ugly. But that’s my opinion and I’m sticking to it. If it makes you feel any better, I think the Bell P-63 Kingcobra is even uglier. There are only four of those left flying, one of which was at Willow Run this weekend. Interesting aircraft with an interesting history; emotional appeal of concrete.
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