The Birmingham age-herald., 1924-12-26
By SAMUEL TAYLOR MOORE.


 haystack that it is possible for me to write this record.
 Two miles west of Fort Cook, Neb., the motor of our army De Haviland plane from Mitchell field coughed con sumptively and died. We were less than 800 feet above the inhospitable rolling prairie. Lieut.. J. K. McDuffie, the pilot, worked frantically to resusci- tate the motor. It was hopeless. It was futile to jump in our parachutes be- cause of the low altitude. After a seeming eternity the landing wheels bounced on the steep incline of short hilly hayfield. We rolled 400 feet at 40 miles an hour, the wind behind us, headed for a wire fence, trees-and perdition.
 Then the haystack loomed, a heaven sent ten-foot mound of straw. McDuffie swerved the nose head-on into the stack. We ducked. There was a splintering crash, a shower of hay, bounce, jolt and gasoline from the disconnected emergency tank cascaded over the wreck age. Fortunately there was no fire. McDuffie and l stood up and smiled reassuringly at each other. The wings were crumpled like accordions. The elevator rudder was gone. Hardly a strut remained. But we were un- scathed.
 Thus was interrupted what was be- gun as a transcontinental flight over the airway of the United States Air Mail from Mineloa to San Francisco.
 A Dangerous Stretch.
 But the most dangerous stretch of the mail railway lies over the Ale ghanies between MineOla and Cleveland. I talked with several pilots who have flown over all sections of the airway. All agreed that the Alleghanies pre- scented the most treacherous section, invariably blanketed in fogs and with scarcely landing place for a stretch of almost POO miles.
 It was our good fortune to have fine flying weather when we took off on the first leg of our journey. Long Island was submerged in thin blue haze as we sped over green fields and climbed to 2,00O feet. East New York and Long Island city fitted by below and off to the right Hell Gate bridge looked exactly like a section of a me- chanical top railroad. The East river islands with their institutional build ings slipped away and the tall build ings of middle Manhattan looked through the mist like mass of crazy chimney-stacks.
 Then foliage that looks pock- marked. The sweep across the range appears as an uneven sea of green cOmbers, treacherOus, inhospitable. There is no landing place. A few streams would do for an emergency landing place, otherwise there is little to hope for. A few farms in the river valleys, more culm banks, collieries, an occasional town. Checked on. the map we have flown more than 200 miles and we are thinking nice thoughts about the Liberty motor.
 Sight First Station.
 Tucked between two high mountain ranges we spot small circle of Slbte on a narrow field, Bellefonte, the first station on our trip. We circle and make landing. Precipitous mountains rise on either side. It is a relief to stretch ones legs. While we smoke a cigarette the air mail detachment re- fuels our plane.
 We are off again, circling in the val ley to clear the mountain tops on either side. Limestone quarries, water filled have replaced the black culm hills of the anthracite region. The noun tains are diminishing in size. Smoke rising here and there indicates numbering operations. But here's something diff ferent On a hilltop overlooking the river the smoke comes not from q steam boiler. It comes from still. From 800 feet in the air the distilling apparatus looks like a teakettle. On the ground is huge pile of corn awaiting liquefaction. All this is in a glance.
 We avoid flying over cities. They nestle by rivers, a pretty spectacle with streets and parks running at right angles. At length the horizon takes on a brighter blue. The drab blur below it becomes q great city with the lake beyond. We circle and shoot between two high smokestacks to make land ing. Breakfast on Long Island, luncheon at Cleveland, four hours and twenty minutes flying time. This is the terminus of the first relay.
 Two Routes To Chicago.
 Two routes are at hand to Chicago. Both are used. One necessitates flying over the city of Cleveland, in variably roofed with a murky pail of smoke from the foundries. The other lies out over the lake.
 We choose the latter and head out, well off shore. Cleveland is just a dull blur of smoke and drab buildings. The sun does not penetrate the smoke. Oc casionally a steamer toots it's whistle to us. The salute cannot be heard above the roar of the motors, but the tiny bursts of steam indicates the com pliment.
 Land looms ahead, the peninsula that is Michigan. We fly for more than fa m u