The Ford "Tin Goose", created by the Ford
Motor Co. at a time when most aircraft
were made of wood covered with fabric, was
the first all metal multi-engined airplane
built in the USA. The Ford Tri-Motor was
originally developed and produced by Bill
Stout of Stout Air Lines, and was based on
European Fokker aircraft. The Tri-Motor
was composed of three models: the Stout
2-AT, which Ford purchased and assimilated;
the Ford-developed 4-AT, epitomized by Admiral
Byrd's "Floyd Bennett" plane and Texaco 4-AT
aircraft; and the Ford 5-AT which comprised
the majority of the 198 or so Tri-Motors
which were produced. The 5-AT characteristics,
which distinguished it from the 4-AT, included
a different cockpit shape with glass on the
top, a snub nose vs. the pointed nose of the
4-AT and ring cowls on the outboard engines.
The Ford 5-AT-C was a improved 5-AT-B "De-Luxe
Club Model" with increased performance.
...
Charles Lindbergh is given credit for encouraging
Henry Ford to use the new 420-hp Pratt & Whitney
Wasp engines for a larger Tri-motor. The resulting
15-passenger 5-AT appeared in 1928. Its maximum
gross weight was bumped to 13,500 pounds from the
10,130 pounds of the last 4-AT. Its ability to
carry some 3,500 pounds in the cabin, even with
full fuel, caused the 5-AT to be even more popular
than the earlier model, which was soon dropped
from production.
Ford's advertising promised its airplanes to be
good for four years. That turned out to be about
the time it took for rapidly advancing technology
to relegate them to the aeronautical back pasture.
As sales fell and the Depression's effects on his
primary business distracted Henry Ford from
building airplanes, he never allowed significant
research into the next-generation airliner. Plus,
he'd kicked the visionary Stout out of the design
business. On top of everything, despite building
some 199 Tri-motors, Henry Ford lost more than
$10 million on his airplane division. Rather than
create a new airplane, Ford shut down the division
when the last 5-AT left the plant in June 1933.
Following their airline days, Tri-motors proved
to be perfect backcountry airplanes. Throughout
the world, their ability to haul very heavy loads
into very short strips kept them in demand until
nearly all were wrecked.
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Preflighting a Tri-motor is akin to washing an
elephant - pretty basic, but there's a lot of
acreage requiring attention, and you had better
bring a ladder. Step back 70 years as you journey
up the aisle, ducking to pass under the center
section carrythrough (the wing has an incredibly
strong truss assembly, with no conventional spar).
Climb into the cockpit, unlock the controls, turn
on the battery switch, and check fuel quantity in
all three tanks, then turn off the battery.
At the forward end of the passenger cabin, above
a built-in ladder, is a hatch through which you
may climb and emerge on top of the airplane to
visually check the fuel and fuel caps. After
climbing down, securing the hatch, and going back
outside, the walkaround is almost too easy. Many
of the control cables are physically outside the
airplane so they, and their corresponding
bellcranks, can be examined. The ailerons have no
aerodynamic balance at all; you will find that
this is not an airplane controlled with the
fingertips. The job of herding a Tri-motor across
the sky is a task more akin to pulling the oars
in an ancient galley than to playing with the
rudder.
No matter what power a Tri-motor originally had,
most of those still flying have 450-hp Pratt &
Whitney R-985 radials. Use the ladder to check
the engines. They can each hold 14 gallons of
oil but will make do with eight. Once the fuel
sumps and gasculators are drained and the brake
lines and tires checked, it's time to head back
inside and see if you can convince those three
engines to lead you aloft.
The cockpit was designed for work. The seats and
rudder pedals are not adjustable. Each control
wheel is actually a Model T Ford steering wheel.
It takes more than one full turn from stop to
stop to operate the ailerons. The wheel is
mounted on a column that is hinged at the floor
to operate the elevators, thus the fore and aft
throw is quite long. Each cockpit side window
opens, so much warm-weather flying is performed
with an elbow on the sill. The side windows on
unmodified Fords need to be kept clean because
the engine gauges for the wing engines are
mounted on the engines themselves.
Positioning the fuel valves takes some
understanding. The 345 gallons of usable fuel is
carried in three tanks. The left and right fuel
tanks are labeled as such; however, in keeping
with the practice of the time of having a
"reserve" fuel tank, the center fuel tank is the
reserve and is treated differently than the others.
In practice, the outboard fuel tanks feed the
three engines until nearly exhausted, at which
time the reserve tank is called upon. Arranging
this means positioning various valves scattered
behind the heads of the pilot and copilot and on
the floor under the pilot's seat.
Starting a radial is an art form. Mixtures up to
full rich (they move vertically), prime, turn the
engine, count six propeller blades, and turn on
the ignition. Reciprocation usually follows shortly
thereafter, accompanied by warm puffs of oil smoke
and the magnificent sound made by a radial. Warm
the oil up to 40 degrees Celsius before allowing
an engine to get above 1,000 rpm. The nose engine
shakes the entire airframe, even at idle, and
serves notice that this endeavor will be loud.
Taxiing is surprisingly easy. While the tailwheel
is not steerable, the slipstream of the center
engine makes the rudder effective even at idle
power. The very wide landing gear, combined with
large ailerons that create significant drag when
lowered and wing engines mounted well away from
the fuselage, allow most taxi tasks to be carried
out without touching the brakes.
Elevator trim is set with a surprisingly large crank
located above the door between the pilots. It turns
a jackscrew that moves the horizontal stabilizer;
use a full turn and a half of the trim crank for
every knot of airspeed change desired.
Line up with the runway and stop, taking a moment to
get a mental picture of how high you are above the
ground. Hold the brakes, set 25 inches manifold
pressure, and make a brief check to be sure the
engines haven't reconsidered, then release the
brakes and slide the power forward to 36.5 inches
as noise becomes a physical presence. Trimming the
throttles is left to the copilot because, for the
very first time since you have been in the Tri-motor,
things happen fast. The 1,350 hp barking through short
stacks accelerates the Tin Goose smartly. The tail
comes up of its own volition and the entire cockpit
sinks a few feet toward the runway. Directional control
is positive, particularly if you have thought to "ut
in aileron toward any crosswind. The rudder is
instantly effective although, as you also are
discovering, astonishingly heavy.
At 65 kt the Ford floats off the runway. Seventy-two
knots is best rate of climb, all engines operating,
with cruise climb just three knots faster. The controls
are shockingly heavy and, at first, seem to make up for
it by being ineffective. More disconcerting, the huge,
high lift wing rolls one way or another in response to
every thermal, despite your efforts to the contrary.
As a wing drops you find yourself using both hands on
that Model T wheel as you force some aileron deflection
only to learn that the ailerons merely function as
massive adverse yaw generators. Rudder is absolutely
essential when trying to use the ailerons, but the
rudder feels as if it is encased in concrete. At
first you find a clearly perceptible delay between
control input and any effect. Your control actions
initially do nothing, and then far too much, as you
sort out the concept of anticipatory delay. The problem
is that the heaviness of the controls means you are not
physically deflecting the surfaces very far.
Stability in roll simply doesn't exist. It's not much
better in pitch, but is actually satisfactory in yaw.
The controls are so painfully heavy it's difficult to
decide whether there is any harmony among them.
Eventually you decide there isn't. The rudder is the
worst offender (your leg muscles will hurt after the
flight), the ailerons are marginally better, and the
elevators are almost reasonable in comparison. In any
turbulence you work unceasingly to return the Tri-motor
to straight and level after it is deflected by the bumps
or its own natural inclination to wander away from where
you left it. Because the fuselage is suspended under the
wing, the sense of wandering about is not nearly as
noticeable in the cabin. While the passengers blissfully
gawk out of the large windows and the airplane seems,
to them, to carry on in stately stolidity, there is a
pilot up front who is just plain busy. You think of the
transcontinental airline service in Fords and realize
those pilots earned every cent of their pay.
Leveling off for cruise involves reducing power to 55
to 65 percent. Anything more is just converting avgas
to noise. Realistic cruise speed for a 5-AT is about
90 kt. There are those who say the cruise speed of a
Tri-motor, in mph, is equal to the cabin decibel level.
They are wrong. The cruise speed never gets that high.
Fuel burn in cruise can be as high as 75 gph, meaning
about 4.5 hours to dry tanks. Allowing for a 45-minute
reserve, still-air range is roughly 340 nautical miles.
Shut down a wing engine and be prepared to work. Hard.
Brace yourself in the seat and push with both feet on
the appropriate rudder. Best-rate-of-climb speed with
one engine out is 75 kt. The Tri-motor will climb with
one out and, depending on density altitude and weight,
should hold altitude if two engines slip their mortal
coil, even if you're flying a Ford that still has
fixed-pitch props.
Making the effort to maneuver a Tin Goose uncovers its
secret; it is a surprisingly responsive airplane if one
has the strength and willingness to truly deflect the
control surfaces. It will roll into a 45-degree bank
turn with vigor if you prod insistently, and once there,
the airplane pivots with almost no speed decay. The
Tri-motor was such a successful bush plane because,
in addition to carrying a load and handling short fields,
a determined, strong pilot could thread one down a canyon
and shoehorn it into a narrow, short strip. Maneuvering
a Ford helps one understand how that most amazing of
airshow pilots of the twentieth century, Harold Johnson,
did jaw-dropping, low-level aerobatic routines in a
Tri-motor. Just about everything Bob Hoover has been
doing in a Shrike Commander, Harold Johnson did in a
Ford Tri-motor 65 years ago.
Slow flight is redundant - everything is slow flight
in a Tri-motor. There is very little difference in
the way the airplane handles at 85 kt or at 65. Trying
to stall the airplane usually results in getting the
wheel all the way against your chest while watching the
sink rate become extreme. However, if you do stall the
airplane, there is a significant risk of a sharp wing
drop, and, if mishandled, a spin. There simply wasn't
a lot known about stability and control when it was
designed. The design team got the wing twist just exactly
backward, so the tips stall first - not a happy state
of affairs.
There's not much to do to prepare for landing. There
are no flaps, and the gear hasn't moved. Base and final
are flown at 75 kt. Pulling the power off in the flare
causes the speed to bleed off right now, so it's a good
idea to leave a little power on until the mains touch.
Wheel-land the airplane, because an error when doing a
full-stall landing can strain that long fuselage.
Rollout is short and not difficult to control so long
as you are assertive. Taxiing into the ramp you cannot
help but be in awe of the independent souls who flew
these airplanes in the days of rudimentary weather
forecasting without radar, from fields only an optimist
could call airports, all the while knowing that there
was a decent chance that one of the engines would give
up on the way.
After you shut down and walk away, the overwhelming
feeling is respect. You realize that it was not a
particularly fun airplane to fly; it was work, because
that was its mission in life. Yet, despite sore legs
and ringing ears, there is something about the Tri-motor
that has touched you. No matter how primitive, heavy,
and loud it is, you're ready to fly it again.
Rick Durden, AOPA 684126, is an aviation attorney who
holds an airline transport pilot certificate and
revels in flying antique and classic aircraft.
