[Editor’s note – Charles LaJotte wrote several versions of this story, which was published in Western
Flying magazine (June 1935) and in the Nome Nugget newspaper (May 1968). This is a later
version of the story edited to include other sources, both written by Charles and contemporary
news reports.]
This is the story of a Jenny. And, for the matter of identification, for these faithful old crates have
been everywhere and have done everything, we’ll think of it as the Farthest North Jenny.
As my tale unfolds, you’ll see why this designation is appropriate, for it traveled across the Arctic
Circle, and to the best of my knowledge, it is still “up there”. [Not until late in life, did Charles learn
of Jenny's eventual fate.]
In 1923 the opportunities in barnstorming were excellent and to an Army Air Service Reserve Pilot
the challenge was great. This year the United States Army sold off it’s OX-5-Jennies, the 90
horsepower training plane in which most of the Air Service pilots received their primary training in
WWI.
The Jenny was a popular barnstorming plane because it was adaptable for passenger carrying,
stunting and wing walking but more desirable because it could be purchased for about $300
which made it the deal of the century.
I purchased one at Rockwell Field, the Army Air Station on North Island at San Diego, California.
Before I decided where to operate, I mentioned to a Mr. A.H. Moore that I was the proud owner of an
airplane. Mr. Moore owned some gold mining properties in Alaska and was at that time outfitting a
four-masted lumber schooner with supplies, mining equipment and personnel to go to Nome and
begin operations.
Mr. Moore thought an airplane would be a valuable addition to his mining operations and we
reached a mutual agreement in which he would furnish transportation for myself and Jenny to
Alaska. We sealed the bargain with a handshake and that night my head was in the clouds, I see
a rainbow in the sky.
I told of the deal to my friend “Comp” Compton, a good mechanic, stunt man and wing walker. We
returned to Mr. Moore and somehow convinced him “Comp” would be a valuable asset to the aerial
operations and he was included in the free passage to Nome.
The next day I assembled my Jenny and made a test flight. The Star and Crescent ferry boat was
leaving North Island for San Diego loaded with civilian employees of Rockwell Field going home
from work. I decided to buzz the boat and give them a salute and last goodbye in my own flying
machine. I overdid it a bit and dragged my tail skid on the railing of the boat. As I came into
Rockwell Field for a landing I saw Major Hap Arnold, Commanding Officer of Rockwell Field, in an
open touring car steaming out to meet me. I immediately aborted the landing and headed for
San Diego.
The schedule called for me to fly Jenny to San Francisco, dismantle it and load it aboard the
schooner, “Fred J. Wood.” Comp and I took off from San Diego and our first stop was at Earl
Daugherty Air Strip at Long Beach for fueling. Then to Chaplin Field located at the intersection of
Wilshire Boulevard and Crescent Avenue (now Fairfax Avenue) in Los Angeles for an overnight
stop. The next morning I found the wing tips on one side chewed up by a hostile propeller, a clear
case of hit-and-run. Twenty-one years later while I was a pilot at North American Aviation I
found “whodunit”, Hubert Kittle, a Los Angeles motorcycle officer flying his own Jenny.
Two days later, with the aid of many willing hands at the airport, Comp and I had new wings
installed. I called out “Contact”, Comp swung the prop and we were off to San Francisco at a mile-
a-minute clip over the Tehachapis and the old Grapevine Ridge Route with its hundreds of turns.
Then the OX sputtered and died, we run out of gas at 5,000 feet. My suitcase, strapped to the wing
next to the fuselage, was slowing Jenny down.
With a dead stick we glided into Wheeler Ridge near a well located gas station. A short time later
we were on our way again, and with a series of 80-mile hops, more or less, we flew the length of
the flat San Joaquin Valley. Spotting a Standard Oil gas station we would come in low, throttle the
engine and “holla” for gas, then land near the station and then the friendly gas man would appear
with a 50 gallon drum marked “Aviation”. [Yes, "hollering" for gas was the common practice for
early barnstormers.]
Modesto was the next overnight stop and there I spent a most enjoyable evening with an army
friend, Frank Kinnear. The next day we landed at the Marina, the old World Fair Grounds at San
Francisco which was very near our boat. The date was June 10, 1923.
We had an assortment of spare parts for Jenny shipped up from San Diego by Mr. Moore’s truck,
which also carried supplies and equipment for the mining operations. Jenny was dismantled and
loaded aboard the schooner “Fred J. Wood.” We were held up a while due to the rumor that the
Alaskan ice in Norton Sound had not yet melted. When the departure date arrived, the “Fred J.
Wood” was towed out to sea through the Golden Gate. (the Golden Gate Bridge was not there at
this time.)
The only professional seamen aboard were the Captain, the first mate and three able-bodied
seamen. The promoters were along and did more than their share in key jobs. It was all sail with
no auxiliary or wireless. The rest were impatient people with $200 gold mining stock each looking
forward to the pot of gold he had envisioned in “fabulous” Alaska.
As we sailed northward, all aboard had jobs to do; barge to be built for transporting the cargo to
shore on arrival, livestock to feed and care for and general shipboard duties. When I was not a
sailor, I stood irregular watches at the wheel. This moon light night with a good tilt to port, under
the sharp of the Captain, the old salt watched the sea, the sails, the sky, the wind, the compass,
the big wheel, and helmsman, me.
I was thinking of three glamorous passengers Joan, Noreen and Mr. Moore’s beautiful daughter,
Lucy. Also of the hundred adults, the three horses, the twenty sheep, the milk cows, the stink, the
coal ballast, the Autocar, the Reo truck, the Cleveland tractor, the gold nuggets we might get and
Jenny. The San Francisco Bulletin called us Noah’s Ark.
Three weeks later we reached the Aleutian Island chain, but the lighthouse shown on the charts
was not there. We came through the uncharted pass with skill and Lady Luck, in command and
entered the Bering Sea.
Five weeks non-stop had passed and dead ahead was Nome. The date was August 9, 1923, the
“Fred J. Wood” crept toward our anchorage with the first mate heaving the lead. “Six fathoms and
bottom” said the Swede, “drop the hook”, commanded the Captain and our voyage was ended.
HALLELUJAH!!!
A representative of the local newspaper, “The Nome Nugget” came aboard and interviewed us and
the Saturday, August 11th issue of the paper carried the headline “AERIAL STUNTS TO BE
ENACTED FOR NOME SOON” and “MOORE PARTY OF GOLD SEEKERS ARRIVE NOME.” [The
newspaper also stressed that the group would not require assistance and had enough provisions
for their entire planned stay.]
Comp and I assembled Jenny on Bessie Road just off the main street of Nome. We had lots of
help and the job was simple. Flying was another matter. It was like trying to get off on a field of wet
sponges. With wide open throttle Jenny moved all of ten inches and then nosed over. The
wooden propeller was splintered and the radiator bent.
After repairs were made from our stock of spare parts, Captain Thomas Ross, in command of the
Coast Guard Station, suggested we use a hard dirt road at Fort Davis, not far down the coast. That
was better than anything I’d seen yet. The first takeoff was successful and we flew over the top sail
of the “Fred J. Wood,” on to our gold mining dredge on Osborne creek, ten miles out of town. Then
back to town and down the main street of Nome. We went back and forth zooming over anything in
the way, our white scarves flying.
There were no licenses required and the world seemed great. Compton, in the spirit of it all,
crawled out of the cockpit and like a madman down below on the landing gear then on top of the
wing doing gymnastics, then back in his seat.
