The other day, Northwest Airlines informed the union that it wished to lay off six hundred mechanics. In recent years, Northwest has had a near-perfect record measured on the only scale that really matters—mechanical failures leading to tragic crashes. Some thanks is surely due to the men and women who are responsible for keeping things shipshape under the hood. It was not always thus.
Plenty of Twin Citizens remember the early days of the airline industry, a racy time that bred giants. In the late forties, Howard Hughes led Hughes Aircraft and Trans World Airlines with the fastest and latest aircraft. Juan Trippe of Pan American pioneered and charted new flight routes with Charles Lindbergh. But in March 1950, Northwest had no giants of its own, and it was in big trouble. The next thirteen months would be very rocky indeed.
On March 7, 1950, the snow and wind howled. Howard Huber was tending bar at his tavern near the airport. The regulars heard an aircraft that was too low and too close. When they heard it a second time, apparently making another approach, Huber said, “That plane is in trouble but he’s not going to make it this time.”
The plane was a Martin 202, a sexy model for Northwest in 1947. It was new and fast and quickly set some impressive speed records. It brought the age of air travel to cities such as Eau Claire, Sioux Falls, Bismarck, Rochester, and Helena. Within a short time, the company was flying twenty Martin 202s—more than forty percent of its total fleet. In an effort to fight the glamorous publicity of Howard Hughes, who at the time was canoodling publicly with Katharine Hepburn and Ava Gardner, Northwest hired Yvonne DeCarlo as its sultry spokeswoman. (She would later become famous as Lily Munster on The Munsters and star in horror films like Satan’s Cheerleaders.) The Martin 202 also marked the birth of the Northwest red tail as an enduring symbol of the carrier. Some employees speculated that the primary purpose of the paint scheme was so emergency crews could find the often waylaid aircraft. They had good reason.
On that day in March, Mrs. Patricia Knowles was shoveling snow and wanted to stay ahead of the snowfall. She glanced up at the Washburn Park Tower and noticed an airplane wing “floating down like a feather.” In seconds, Northwest’s problems would come crashing down into three Minnehaha Parkway residences.
The crash of Northwest Airlines Flight One summoned thirteen fire engine companies to the scene. Amid a sea of blowing snow, smoke, and ash, neighborhood heroes pulled survivors from the burning houses. But when firefighters set up their ladder to rescue two children from the second floor of a house on the eleven-hundred block of West Minnehaha Parkway, the flames were too much, and the house collapsed in front of them. The children had just been tucked into bed while their parents watched the Minneapolis Lakers game on a television downstairs. The disaster claimed the lives of all thirteen passengers and the two children on the ground.
From August 29, 1948, until January 17, 1951, Northwest endured six fatal crashes and, astonishingly, lost five of its twenty new Martin 202s. In other words, twenty percent of the fleet had been destroyed in crashes.
Later, in the spring of 1951, one hundred Twin Cities businessmen celebrated Northwest Airlines’ twenty-fifth anniversary. Hosted by Radisson Hotels, the fare included Alaskan salmon and “Broiled Guinea Chicken Croil Hunter,” named after the sitting president of Northwest Airlines. The guests were startled when the intercom system roared, “The twenty-fifth anniversary flight of Northwest Airlines is ready for departure. Captain Croil Hunter and Captain Tom Moore at the controls. All aboard please!”
The spring of 1951 was indeed a perilous time for Northwest. With its planes grounded, its crews and the general public afraid to fly, the government agency doing the comprehensive investigation was led by a man named Donald Nyrop. His top-to-bottom review of the carrier’s safety record, maintenance, and pilot training led him to declare the Martin 202 “a basically sound airplane.” This surprising confidence made a profound impact on Northwest’s board of directors, and they began a determined three-year courtship to get Nyrop as its president. When he accepted on September 27, 1954, Northwest had its industry giant and its future would be secured.—Tony Nichols
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