We probably can’t relate to how much of a media star Howard Hughes was in his time. Maybe–maybe–the closest we could get is if we merged Bezos and Musk and Zuckerberg together, we might begin to understand Hughes’s hold over the public imagination of the 1930s and ’40s. He was, among other things, a financier, a real estate baron, a film mogul (director and producer), a manufacturer and innovator in many fields. One of his major areas of productivity was in the advancement of aviation. Besides being the brains behind Trans-World Airlines (TWA), Hughes set/broke many records for aerial speed in aircraft he himself designed. You have also probably heard about the largest plane ever (dubbed the Spruce Goose) that he built and flew.
During World War 2, Hughes worked closely with the US Government in developing new aircraft for the war effort. One of his stellar accomplishments (pun intended) was the creation of the Constellation, a sleek long-distance passenger airplane that was commissioned by Hughes just as the war was breaking out in Europe. He saw the future, Hughes did, and he knew that after the war was over, people would want to travel long distances cheaply and comfortably. That’s where the Constellation came in. It was the first aircraft to feature a pressurized cabin that would allow it to fly safely and comfortably at high altitudes unlike any other aircraft before it.
Hughes took delivery of the aircraft in 1944 and flew it from California to Washington DC as a publicity stunt. He thought it would drum up business for his airline and new star of the fleet (again, pun intended), the Constellation. Skipping across America (and back), Hughes planned stops along the way to land and take local dignitaries up for quick flight so that they would be able to experience the thrill of luxury air travel. And so, he and the president of TWA went to DC and flew some government officials around before heading back west. One of his stops on the return was in Dayton, Ohio. Upon landing, there seemed to be a bit of confusion because almost no one was there to take the promotional flight. One in particular was an old man in a rumpled suit who didn’t even seem too excited to be included.
But Hughes was a showman. He gave the small group the usual sales speech and then took off with the gaggle of notables (plus the older man) and showed them what the future of air travel would look like. Throughout the more or less 50 minute flight above Dayton, Hughes let the passengers take turns sliding into the co-pilot’s seat to get a bird’s eye view of things from up front. When it was the older man’s turn, Hughes said to him, “Would you like to fly her?” The old man sort of shrugged and placed both of his hands on the yoke. “It really flies itself, doesn’t it?” the older man remarked to Hughes. Hughes smiled and nodded. And the man had some questions for Hughes. “What’s the wingspan?” he wanted to know. Hughes told him: 123 Feet.
“Do you do much flying?” Hughes asked the man as he got up to allow the next passenger to sit. “No, sir,” the old man said, shaking his head, and then he began to exit the cockpit. Then, he paused as if in thought. He turned back towards Hughes.
“123 feet, you say? That’s about as far as we flew the first time,” Orville Wright grinned.
The Rest of the Story 