Page 60 of Air Affair

“I do not know.”

They climbed into his Model T and headed for the airfield.

When Hank got back from dropping off O’Donnell, he ate a proper breakfast, bathed, put on his best suit, and headed out to the offices of Glenn Curtiss.

The Curtiss offices were a hive of activity. The army needed airplanes faster than the manufacturers could make them. Automobile plants were being taken offline and repurposed to produce planes for the war effort. No one was more in demand in the industry than Glenn Curtiss, the mastermind behind the Curtiss Jenny, the most widely used plane in the war effort. It wasn’t the most powerful plane, but it was quick and easy to build and maintain, giving it an advantage over more sophisticated models.

When Hank told Mr. Curtiss’ secretary he was there to see him, he expected a long wait. But no sooner did he sit down than Mr. Curtiss came out of the office with Major Belmont in tow.

“Hank, boy am I happy to see you! This is Major Belmont.” Hank stood and saluted, petrified of what might come next. “Major Belmont, this is Hank Hawley, a talented pilot, and a brilliant engineer of aeronautics. He’s advising on the new planes for the Post Office, and I think I may have convinced him to join my team.”

“Pleased to meet you, Hank,” said Major Belmont without a hint of recognition, even though they had met before.

“Pleased to meet you too, sir,” Hank said, shaking his hand, his body flooding with relief. The major didn’t know.

“Join us, Hank,” said Mr. Curtiss.

“We need more Jennies,” said Major Belmont.

“How many?” asked Mr. Curtiss.

“Four hundred.”

“Four hundred?” asked Mr. Curtiss, scratching his head. “That’ll take six months minimum.”

“We can’t wait that long.”

“Then make the Jennies you have better,” Hank interjected, and both men turned to stare at him. “It’s much cheaper to upgrade the Jennies you have so that they last longer than to buy more. Put better engines and bigger fuel tanks in the ones you have, and I guarantee you’ll reduce the number of new ones you need so that production can catch up with demand. It’s simple math.”

Mr. Curtiss turned to the major. “See, August? That’s the kind of thinking we need around here to keep up with the war effort.” He clapped Hank on the back, and Hank grinned. He was going to like this job, even if he wasn’t flying.

“Hank, assuming Major Fleet signs off, I want you to lead this project overseeing the upgrades and managing the production of the new planes. You can own it from start to finish. That’s how much I trust you.” Mr. Curtiss gestured expansively, painting a picture.

That was a lot to take on, but as Hank started to mull it over, he immediately had thoughts on how it could be done. He needed to start with the supply chain for parts, and then…

“See, August? Hasn’t even started yet, and he’s on the job already.”

“Have you resigned your commission yet, young man?” the major asked.

“Not yet. I came today to get the details of the job offer. Once we have that ironed out, I’ll be giving notice.”

“See that you do posthaste, Hank. The war effort needs you here far more than flying mail.” Major Belmont wanted him to quit? That was unexpected. He thought he would get resistance, arguments that the army needed every pilot it could get. He also expected a drawn-out process, but perhaps he could get it expedited. This was going to be easier than anticipated.

“I will, sir,” Hank said, hardly able to believe his luck.

“If you’ll excuse us a moment, Hank,” Mr. Curtiss said, “I need to speak with the major privately. I’ll be right back to speak with you.”

Hank sat on the sleek sofa outside Glenn Curtiss’ office. It looked as modern as the airplanes the company produced. They were ushering in a new era of widespread flying, and he, Hank Hawley, was going to be sitting in the cockpit.

Five minutes later, Major Belmont walked out the office door. Hank leapt to attention, and the major offered a perfunctory nod and left without a word.

Mr. Curtiss beckoned him into his office. “Now, Hank. I want you, and you heard the major. Your country needs you. What will it take for me to get you on board?”

He’d recently gotten a raise to three thousand a year. “Four thousand?”

Mr. Curtiss shook his head. “You have to do better than that, Hank. I don’t want the competition stealing you because I’m underpaying you. How does six thousand sound to you?”

Hank nearly fell out of his seat. For six thousand dollars, he could buy a house a year. With six thousand dollars, he could buy his own Jenny in a year or two and take Rory flying all around the country.