The Dollop with Dave Anthony and Gareth Reynolds - 93 - The Dole Plane Race

Episode Date: June 29, 2015

In this sound handicapped special episode, Dave Anthony and Gareth Reynolds discuss the Dole Plane Race.SourcesTour DatesRedbubble MerchThe Dole Plane Race

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American history. Each week I read a story from American history to my friend Gareth Reynolds who has no idea what the topic is about. Not Gary Gareth. Stay okay. Someone or something is tickling people. Is it for fun? And this is not going to become a tickly podcast. Okay. You are queen fakie of made-up town. All hell queen shit of Liesville. A bunch of religious virgins go to mingle and do what? Train. Hi Gary. No. I see you've done my friend. No. Good stuff. September 27th 1877. Uh-huh. Barely with us. Barely with us. I'm in. James Dole was born in Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts. His family was appeared in

blood having arrived in colonial times. Okay. His father Charles was a Unitarian minister. He often expressed the hope that his son would enter the ministry. It's nice. It is sweet. It is sweet. Yeah. Charles first-covern, cousin, Covern. Charles first-cousin, Sanford Ballard, a doll, had gone as a missionary. The name's Ballard is a horrific. Sanford Ballard? Yeah. Got a ring to it, huh? Got a nice ring to it, that one. Rolls off the tongue. Yeah. Three days. Sanford Ballard, get in here. Yeah, it's not good. They call them sandball. Oh, cool. So, at least he had a normal fine nickname. Uh, he had gone as a missionary to Hawaii. Sanford

became a lawyer devoting his life to modernizing Hawaii and became a force in turning the islands into a state. Okay. James Dole attended Harvard where he concentrated on agriculture and horticulture. In 1899, with his degree in hand, Dole made his way to Hawaii with his total savings of about $1,500. Not bad. Intent upon making his fortune. At first, he lived with his cousin, Sanford, in Honolulu. All right. All sounds pretty good right now. It sounds like a nice... Sanford and brother. Yeah. Within two weeks, quote, within two weeks, I found the town quarantined for six months by an outbreak of bubonic plague. Oh, Jesus.

So that's bad. Yeah. During the winter, I saw the fire department with the timely aid of a stiff wind burned down all of Chinatown. Sorry. Sorry. Who burned down Chinatown? The fire department. So, in these times, was the fire department a department that just made fire? In the 1800s, the fire department was on the other side. I'm glad we made that switch. That was an important switch. It says the intention was to disinfect with fire only one or two blocks. Disinfect with fire? Disinfect what? Buildings? Not people. Maybe the Chinese. The Chinese? That's not disinfecting. Well, they had different words for different things back then.

See that? Yeah. Okay. That's good. Well, so they disinfected all Chinatown. That's a fun way to put a Chinese genocide. Positive spin. Yeah. The whole place is disinfected. No, yeah. It's like the freedom act. Yeah. Hey, we cleaned Chinatown. Hey, Chinatown spotless. Spotless. And gone. Yeah. The Hawaiian economy was dependent on a single product. Sugar. Attempts to grow rubber, coffee, fruits, and vegetables had all failed. Dole wrote, I first came to Hawaii with some notion of growing coffee and I heard that fortunes were being made in Hawaiian coffee. Dole, huh? I began homesteading a 64-acre farm in the rural district of the island of Oahu at a place called Oahi. This is a

great one for your pronunciation. It's about 25 miles from Honolulu. Okay. Dole borrowed money and on August 1st, 1990, he bought the land. I think he's gonna get fruity. What? Yeah. He quickly deduced the land was better suited to pineapples than anything else. Pineapples. Others had tried pineapples, but the fruit does not travel well and they all failed. James decided to sell pineapples in cans, which was also a difficult thing to do. He planted about 75,000 pineapple slips and with no knowledge of canning, he started a cannery. That's how you do it, man. That's a terrible phrase. Cannery's also not a

good... we could come up with something better. No, I like cannery. Can factory. That's terrible. I mean, I guess actually cannery is the combo of those two. Can we make that longer? As you were. As you were, cannery. The people of Honolulu scoffed when 24-year-old James D. Dole founded the Hawaiian Pineapple Company. The Honolulu Advertiser labeled the company, quote, a full-hearty adventure which had been tried unsuccessfully before and was sure to fail again. The Hawaiian business community had little interest in another fly-by-night pineapple company. Well, you know, they've been burned by so

many pineapple things at that point. Oh, another asshole pineapple man comes to our island. Another fly-by-night pineapple man. Fly-by-night. So, Dole was forced to return to Boston briefly, where he raised 14,000 from family and friends. Wow. I feel like this is gonna pay off for those people. Yeah, well, I think it will. And despite the pessimism among Hawaiians, Dole was successful. More financial support came a year later when San Francisco's Hunt Brothers, impressed with what he had done, dumped an investment. Dole. Chris and Mike. Chris and Mike. Yep. I'm not gonna say it. There was a guy on my high school basketball team. You had?

There was a guy named Mike Hunt. It's tough. That's tough. He's really good. Went to the state finals. Dole was something of a technology buff. In 1913, his company had developed a machine that could peel 100 pineapples in a minute. Whoa. Fucking crazy machine for that time period. Yeah. I think there's some hands lost in that thing. Oh my god. A lot of Chinese hands in that fucking thing. He was often running. 25 years later, he had a vast pineapple plantation. It became the largest plantation in the world with over 20,000 acres devoted exclusively to growing pineapple, using mechanized production and importing foreign workers who were paid at indentured servitude

levels. Nice. Dole managed to drop the price of his pineapples so low that it drove every other producer out of the business. Wow. Throughout the 20th century, Lanai produced over 75% of the world's pineapple crop. A lot. Did you like that? That was the whole thing. If that's it, I think we maybe don't put it out. 752 a.m. May 20th, 1927. Charles Lindbergh gunned the engine of the Spirit of St. Louis and aimed her down the dirt runway at Roosevelt Field Long Island. Whoa, whoa, what? What is about to happen? What? Whoa. Heavily laden with fuel, the plane bounced down the muddy field, gradually becoming airborne, and barely cleared the

telephone wires at the field's edge, a crowd at the field's edge, a crowd of 500 watched. Working as a male pilot a year earlier, he had heard of the $25,000 price for the first flight between New York and Paris. Backed by a group of St. Louis businessmen, Lindbergh supervised the building of his special plane and set out after the prize. Lindbergh equipped himself with four sandwiches, two canteens of water, and 451 gallons of gas. Sorry, they were so it was a contest to see who could fly from LA to New York? From New York to Paris. Or New York to Paris. That was and it was 25 grand. Yeah. To the winner of that. So businessmen

backed him up and they built the plane. But other people, was it just like any, was it like the Gold Rush? Like anyone who did it first got 25,000? Yeah, basically. Isn't that, isn't that inviting a lot of plane crashes? Let's read on. Jesus. On the evening of May 21st, he crossed the coast of France, followed the Seine River to Seine River to Paris. Seine. Seine. I don't know, I'm not gonna know. Seine. Is that what it is? Seine? Yeah, the Seine River. Seine. Seine. Seine? No, no, no. They don't hear the answer. Seine. Seine. Seine. Jesus Christ. Glad you're here. Seine. It's just eh. Seine. Even all the other letters. It is a little

under pronounced. Sure. So he touched down at 10 22 p.m. in Paris. The crowd waiting of 100,000 people rushed the plane. He became an instant hero. The lone eagle he was called. The New York City gave him the largest ticker tape parade ever. The president awarded him the Distinguished Flying Cross. His feet electrified the nation and inspired enthusiastic interest in aviation. Okay. One of the men his flight inspired was James Dole. Okay. James immediately thought this new mode of transportation could kill off his final big competitor. Boy, he was a real pineapple animal. He was a pineapple monster. Yeah.

He wanted to be the pineapple king. He was a pineapple. He announced the Dole Air Race. Jesus. This time. Okay. That sounds a little Aryan. This time the goal was the Pacific. Okay. So. Dole put up $35,000 in prizes for the first planes to make the Pacific crossing. $25,000 of the first plane and $10,000 of the second. Dave. What? Now we're back to my question. Their reaction was quick, eager, and enthusiastic. Pilot after pilot announced he was going after the money. There were two goals. One, of course. Live. The money. And two, the glory of making the first flight across the 2,400 ocean miles which

never had been crossed before in the air. That's a good amount. That's a nice distance to make an idiot fly. Well, I wouldn't say idiot. I think some of these people will be idiots. I don't know why you think that. Because for a number of reasons we're doing a dollop about it. That doesn't mean anything. We're still idiots and this is what has happened repeatedly through history. Greed over matter. I don't follow you. Okay. Anyway. Almost immediately the first flight honor was gone. On March 28th, a month after Dole announced the race, two young Army lieutenants, Lester Maitland and Albert Hegenberger, took a three-engine

Fokker, Fokker, Fokker, F-O-K-K-E-R, Fokker. Military monoplane up from Oakland Airport headed west and made it safely to Wheeler Field, Oahu. It took them 25 hours and 50 minutes and they were the first ever to complete the long and lonely trip. But the Dole Flyers told themselves Maitland and Hegenberger were Army. No civilians yet had flown the Pacific so they stood the glory being the first. What? I mean, that's really nitpicky. I mean, they did it. What's the point? But they're also wrong about the civilian thing. A young airmail pilot named Ernie Smith and his navigator, Emery Buranti, in a monoplane called

City of Oakland, took off from Oakland Field on July 4th. That's the worst plane name ever. That's the worst plane name ever. City of Oakland. City of Oakland. The City of Oakland is coming in. They reached the Hawaiian Islands, completely out of gas, and they crash landed in a thorn tree on the island of Molokai, 26 hours and 36 minutes later. It wasn't Honolulu, but it was Hawaii and the civilians have done it. So the Dole Racers were like, well, okay, we're gonna get the money and then, you know, fame. But... The distance was almost as long as Lindbergh's flight and the conditions are arguably worse and the small islands

would be much, much, much, much harder to find than the continent of Europe. It's not good. It's fine. It's not fine. Experts cautioned that a race wasn't the best way to attempt such a dangerous journey. We need to start listening to experts more. But don't ignore them. They're always there. They're always there saying the right thing. I don't know. This could all work out great. This won't work out great. August, you know what I always think of as the Hannah Barbera cartoon? When I was writing this, you know, all the, they really did a little race cars. It was really... Oh. You remember that? Probably not. No. On August

8th, when the entry list closed with 15 planes in competition, the official drawing for starting positions took place in the office of Captain C.W. Sanders. Wait, wait, wait, wait. Sorry. What's happening? The starting positions? So many people wanted to do it. It's a race? Well, so many people wanted to do it. So instead of like just people jumping in a plane and doing it... They made it a cannonball run. All these people made their intentions to do it, so they're like, all right, we gotta... An organized race. Yeah. What? This is, this is like fucking the balloons in Cleveland, but with human lives. Have you seen

airplanes by... Sorry? The Disney movie, Dusty? Oh, I haven't seen that. Voiced by Dan Cook? No. That's probably worse. Already it sounds like the main plane's hacky, though. Super hacky. Yeah. Not funny. He's not a funny plane. This is a terrible... It might be a fine idea. This is a terrible idea. How about some optimism? No! On August 8th, when the entry list closed with the 15 planes in competition... Oh, I mean, this is gonna be... This is not good. The official drawing for starting positions took place in the office of Captain C.W. Sanders, California director of the National Aeronautics Association in San Francisco.

He's just not very good at his job. All hands agreed on a starting date. Anyone who jumped the gun relinquished all rights to the prize money. The huge prize money attracted a ragtag mob of adventurers and daredevils. Not who you want. There was the legendary Hollywood aerial stuntman, Art Goble, who charged $80 to film a parachute jump and $15,000 to blow up a plane in midair. Okay, so already this should be a movie. William Randolph Hearst's son hired a pilot named Jack Frost to fly for him. Wait, okay, another Hearst? Yep. Oh yeah, of course they're gonna jump in. Popular cowboy actor Hoot Gibson entered his

triplane in Pride of Los Angeles. Legendary World War I flying ace Captain William Irwin was in, while Hawaii local favorite Martin Jensen only managed to enter after his wife rallied the citizens of Honolulu to buy him a plane. I mean, this cast is great. Can you hit me with some of them again? We got Hollywood stuntman Art Goble. That's right, Art Goble. William Randolph Hearst's son hired a pilot named Jack Frost. Popular cowboy actor Hoot Gibson. Legendary World War I flying ace Captain William Irwin and Martin Jensen. The local kid. Oh man. Position number 13 went to Navy Lieutenant George Covel, married father of

two, and RS Wagner, a bachelor both of San Diego. They had an unnamed quote mystery monoplane, reputed to be one of the best in the race. Okay. Two days after the number was drawn, Lieutenant's Covel and Wagner took off from San Diego in Oakland, flew into a fog, and slammed into an ocean cliff within 15 minutes. Jesus Christ. They were dead in the flaming airplane when it hit the beach. This is tough comedically. This is ridiculous, but I mean, two men have just died right away. Right away. 15 minutes. Yeah. I mean, it's fine. Talk about prematurely. It's gonna be fine. Aviating. Preparing for the race, Captain Arthur V. Rogers, 29. Uh-huh.

Flyer and decorated veteran of the Lafayette Esca Drill in World War I took his monoplane, Angel of Los Angeles, up for a test flight at Western Erics Press Field at Montabello. With his wife and infant daughter, Millicent, watching beside the runway, he circled then plunged 125 feet to the ground dying instantly. That was his test run? Yeah. Well, he wasn't ready. Well, we're down three racers. We're not. We're losing some of these people. And by the way, I'm not sure if this could be a movie anymore. Oh, God, it could be a great movie. I mean, it would be a 20-minute movie. Well, we've got. It'd be all set up and then

just horrific crashes. We've still got 10, 12 people. Okay. All right. Our Hollywood stars. Some people were starting to say, hey, maybe this isn't such a good idea. Experts. But there was no stopping the Flyers. The tragic accident seemed to give a new edge to their appetite for the adventure. And the public had its interest now captured by the haphazard and perilous drama of it all. No, it's not perilous. People are dying. The public is enjoying watching knowing of deaths. The public would not have heard of a cancellation at this point. Oh, God. People began arriving by the thousands of the airport to chair

each contestant as he or she landed in Oakland. They got up close and looked at the planes. Excitement was everywhere. Mildren Doran from Flint, Michigan was teaching the fifth grade and was a student pilot when she heard about the Dole Race. She knew William Maluska of Flint was entering a plane in the contest. Maluska, who owned Lincoln's Oils gas stations in Michigan, was a formal carnival owner and was always looking for a way to promote his business. Oh, God. I mean, it's a weird time when flying a plane helps your carnival. No, he doesn't have a carnival anymore. He has a gas station. Oh, well,

okay. But he wants to promote his gas stations, but he used to be a carnival man. Yeah, he used to be a carnival man. Okay. That's always a good sign. Yeah. Got out of the carnival game finally. Man, that is a vicious, vicious cycle. Augie Pedler. Uh-huh. Sure. Keep going. The pilot of a Maluska's plane was 24, a skinny and hot-tempered lad from Lincoln, Nebraska, who wore a battered straw hat and won the right to fly the Little Biplane by Tosca Coyne with a fellow aviator. What? The navigator was Lieutenant Willis R. Noob of San Diego, an Annapolis man. Maluska agreed Mildred Doran could ride along in the

race and had decided to name the plane after her. The missed Doran left on its flight from a small airfield in Grand Blanc township on July 11th, 1927. All right. And lunch. Hit me with the good news. Because female flyers are very unusual, Doran's story caught the attention of the public and the media. Uh-huh. Mildred was 22, a girl with hazel eyes, olive skin and curly dark hair. She became a celebrity, interviewed at every stop the plane made on its way to Oakland for the race. Mildred wore five fraternity pins on her olive job flying suit, but when she was asked, she said she wasn't in love. The boys just

gave them to her because they were dancing partners. She sounds like a dancing whore. This is a great story. Sounds like she was dancing with a lot of boys. And route to Oakland from the east, Miss Doran had a Miss Doran, it's also the plane's called Miss Doran, so don't get confused. Yeah, I know it. Well, I mean, it's very, it's a very weird thing to do. Miss Doran had spark bug trouble over the San Joaquin Valley and came down in a wheat field. Mildred explained they had a little trouble making repairs because they had no tools. Quote, we threw the mouth at Long Beach because we were in the way, they were in the way and

cluttering things up. The tools were? The tools? Yep. To fix your problems? Yeah. In the way? The tools were in the way, so they got rid of them. Interesting. They were in the way. Interesting. Another would be competitor was Pride of Los Angeles, the plane with three wings. Dull aficionados called her a stack of wheats because of her three layered appearance. Three wings? Yeah. You mean three wings on each side? I have no idea how, yeah, it must be. It just says three wings. Well, three, I mean. Maybe it was one big one across and then two little ones. Okay. All right. Imagining. Or it could be three. Anyway, her pilot was

Captain J. L. Griffin, a Long Beach attorney and her navigator, Theodore Lundgren, Bondbroker and former Army flyer. On August 11th, as the plane began its approach to the Oakland field, it fell clumsily into the bay, a hundred feet offshore. Oh, God. I mean, they're not even getting it. That's why people are showing up because they're like, they literally crash at the starting line. Like, just come here and you'll see them crash. Griffin and Lundgren were unhurt, but the Pride of Los Angeles was done. Yeah. Boy, that's quite a loaded statement. So the field had been narrowed down to eight on the morning of

August 16th. How many have died? Seven? We've lost three. Okay, three. Lost three. Three dead. That's not many. So the field had been narrowed down to eight. This is the lineup. Golden Eagle, a little monoplane which stood out because it had a metal rather than a cloth covered fuselage. The pilot was Jack Frost of New York. When they assigned him the license number NX913 and asked him whether he minded, he quipped, heck no, what's one more 13 in my life? His navigator was... He was always so great with a confusing wit like that. He's fucking amazing. Yeah. His navigator was Gordon Scott, 26 from

London. Aloha, the next plane, it was a lemon yellow monoplane with a pink flower lie painted on the nose whose pilot, Martin Jensen, 26. Peppery little Honolulu commercial flyer, he said, quote, I've got to make it. I'll make it or die in an attempt. Okay. He's gonna die. Captain Pia Paul, Schluter, a seafaring man was his navigator. Woolerock. A seafaring man? Yep. I know the sea. Good. How are you in the sky? I know no ship. I know boats. I know boats and water. Hey, can I fly on your race? I know boats. What do you mean we're flying? Oh boy. Next plane was Woolerock whose pilot was Art Gobble, a big and handsome

world-owned flyer and the stuntman from the 13 Black Cats of Hollywood. That was the name of the stunt group. Okay. His navigator was Lieutenant Wim V. Davis Jr. and Annapolis Man. Ms. Doran with Mildred Peddler and Lieutenant Knopp. Oklahoma, a sister ship of the Woolerock, piloted by Bennett Griffin, a former Army flyer with Al Henley as the navigator. The Dallas Spirit, flown by Captain William P. Irwin, a World War I combat victor over nine German planes. Okay. And navigated by Alvin Eckwalt, 27 of Hayward, one-time Navy seaman, who survived three ship explosions during the war. Okay. I'm gonna tell you, is that

everyone? Nope. Oh, Jesus. El Encanto, a metal monoplane. El Encanto? Yeah. Of Navy Lieutenant Norman G. Goddard and Kenneth C. Hawkins of San Diego, one of the prettiest planes and one heavily favored in pre-race odds. Okay. So they're not gonna do it. And Papaco Flyer, whose pilot, Major Livingston Irwin of Berkeley, chose to go it alone without a navigator. All right. So I'm gonna tell you who I think is gonna do it. Okay. Okay. I think it's gonna be Jack Frost. Interesting. I think it's gonna be Jack Frost. Uh-huh. Because it, mainly because they didn't want to have cloth near where the fuel is. Okay. So you're voting. I

think that that shows some thinking. And I think a lot of, I think the stuntman is not gonna be used to this sort of stuff. I mean, he's used to fucking up. That's his job as a stuntman for the most part. True. I mean, if you're putting a flower on there and suggesting that your death is one of the two options, I think you're probably a goner. Heavy Favorit's not gonna do it. So I'm going to Jack Frost. If anyone does this thing. There were 50,000 spectators on the foggy morning of August 16, 1927. Some people say there were 100,000. The misshrouded Oakland Airport, drifting close above eight little airplanes lined up in a

semi-circle at the head of the dusty runway. The 15 men and Mildred attended to last-minute details, adjusting bulky engines and tightening flimsy control wires. This was a great day in aviation history. And for the San Francisco Bay area, the Pacific was about to be conquered by flight for the third time. Yeah. Yeah. But this time, mostly in tiny airplanes with inefficient engines, no safety equipment worth mentioning and unskilled crews. Probably. Is anyone gonna make it? Just before 11 o'clock, the sun burned through the fog and all of them are ready to go. Mildred Doran had raspberries, toast and coffee for breakfast

and posted a letter to a friend in Flint, Michigan. We are sure going to be the first there, she wrote, the crowd surged against the fences. That's like the old Facebook updates. As the starting flag was whipped. I love they still had a starting flag. Oklahoma rumbled down the runway, struggled into the air and the dull race had begun. The crowd cheered. Next, Ellen Contno and Campno rocked along the runway, shot to the right, swerved and fell over on her left wing. Immediately? Yeah, didn't make it off the runway. Goddard and Hawkins crawled out unhurt, but the Ellen Contno was finished. Jesus. You can't fall over on

your left wing. They're probably the luckiest ones. The Pabco flyer was next, down the runway it went, lifting into the air, then crashing into the marshland, 7,000 feet from the starting line. Wow. I assume people were booing at that point. I would have been booing. Because two of them, one's gone up and two of them just immediately not. Booing? Yeah, while you boo. Boo. The Golden Eagle was more of a sturdy plane than the others. The sleek plane took off smoothly and flew into the west. Yeah. The crowd roared as they watched a plane do what it should do. Yeah, fly. Next, sputtered up Miss Doran, a sad little plane. Oh, this is not a good start. This would be like taking a

rowboat to Hawaii instead of a ship. Battered, flimsy and clumsy, the little biplane managed to take off and then returned 10 minutes later. We're done. It wasn't good. More surprising was that the Oklahoma came back too. Something ripped in her fuselage over San Francisco and her crew figured it was better to be safe than sorry because, you know, huge ocean, plain, dead, that kind of thing. Yeah, well, it's nice to hear that better is safe than sorry was something that people did actually think. Next went the Dallas Spirit and just like the others, quickly returned. Something was wrong with the tail

assembly. We were just following the others. Aloha got off all right and so did the Woolorack. The popco flyer was pulled out of the Martian ready to go again. What? No, you don't pull it out of the Martian and then say it's ready to go again. Yeah. No. They took off and once again crashed into the Martian. Yeah. Stop leaving them in the Martian. Don't help them. That was it for the popco. Miss Doran was ready to go again too. Some reporters wrote that Mildred looked ashen and in tears as she got on the plane. Oh, what? The plane rose slowly went out and disappeared into the West. Isn't that beautiful? That's terrible. The 22-year-old

girl just weeping, crying, getting in the cockpit. She's about to die. No, not good. I mean, that ends bad. So after all the long weeks and preparation and all the excitement, only four airplanes out of 15 were in the air over the Pacific that happened. The Golden Eagle, Aloha, Woolorack and Miss Doran. So you? I got my pony instead. Yeah, you got your pony in the race. Come on, Golden Eagle. The stuntman Goba with his navigator, Davis, got their first in the Woolorack. It took 26 hours, 17 minutes. They won the $25,000. Damn it. Martin Jensen, the Hawaiian and Captain Schluter got there in 28 hours, 60 minutes and won the $10,000 prize.

I'm noticing I haven't heard about the Golden... Local boy. Yeah, yeah. Local boy. I haven't heard about the Golden Eagle. Oh, the Golden Eagle was never seen again. No! My babies! As was Miss, as was the Miss Doran. Well, that's not surprising. She, I mean, it's nice that the last image was her going into the rape pit. Just weeping. Yeah. I'm going to die. Okay, I understand that the people want to see a show. I'll end my life for this. They were searched for by the US Navy with 42 ships, but not a sign was found of the planes. A $10,000 reward was offered by the guy who owned the Lincoln Oil. Oh, really? Planes for Miss Doran's

recovery. I don't know what $10,000 reward. It's the middle of the ocean. Yeah. It's not like... Yeah, really? I mean... It's like someone's gonna stumble across you in a forest. However, let's be honest. This was caused by them all trying to race 15 planes to Hawaii. So I think if you started a $10,000, find these planes, contest, people would be like, well, shit! I'm just gonna swim it! Captain Erwin and young Eqwalt fixed the Dallas Spirit's tail assembly and took off three days later to finally make it to Honolulu and to help in the search for their fellow racers. So that's good. Yeah, I mean, sure. Hey, someone's doing the right thing here.

Yeah, okay. The Dallas Spirit was never heard from again. Wait, no! No! No! Stop the bleeding! Stop the bleeding. That's seven more to the dull race. That one did not need to... There's three days later though. Well, we're gonna try to win this fucking thing. They're gonna go search for their buddies. No, they were... Well, it didn't work. That's seven more to the dull death race list. Mildred Doran, Peddler, and Jack Frost and Gordon Scott. That made it ten deaths altogether before, during, and after the race. A race that would have made them the third plane to fly to Hawaii. Good. In Flint, Michigan, the Doran Tower was built in the Flint

area in Mildred Doran's memory. It was a three-story, six-sided wood building. A memorial and shrine were dedicated in 1929, built by Lincoln Oil as a windmill-shaped gas station with an upstairs apartment on airport property. Can I... Okay, I don't want to sound like an asshole, but what did she do? Like, why... What is so celebrated? She captured the nation's attention. Okay, so we can just put an Amy Fisher statue somewhere. Well, that's fine. No, that's fine that he did it, because he's the one who, you know, had her get in the plane and everything, and maybe the people in Flint were like, well, she, because she was brave. I mean,

she was brave, but she was seemed crying. Stupid as a fucking box of boxes. Kind of what my point is. Not that the others were smart, but it just seems like I didn't hear that they got statues. They didn't. Yeah. Where's my Jack Frost statue? Where's my Gordon Scott shrub? Fuck that thing. The building at the southeast corner of Saginaw and Maple Roads was torn down in 1973. It was then a vacant lot until 1979. Now it houses a restaurant, Dave's Country Oven. If you go there, the foundation and concrete slab of the Dorn Tower are still buried under topsoil and grass between the intersection and the restaurant sign.

That's kind of what... That's the memorial now. It's gorgeous. You should open a place called Dave's Country Oven. Why would that happen? Because you like to say cunt. That was a good story, right? That's great. Yeah, I'm really... Do you feel better about things? No. No. People and stuff like that? No. No. Feel like that's terrible. What a great race. Yeah, what a great... Is it a race? Was it a race? It was a race. It was kind of a murder... A flight murder. Flight murder. Yeah. Alright. I hope everybody's happy. I'm not happy.