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Benito Loygorri
Written by William A. Butler
Benito Loygorri married my mother's sister
Encarnita Salazar and thus became Tio Benito. Benito
and Encarnita visited us in Cuba on a yearly basis. They had their
own room and would generally stay a month. They journeyed from
Madrid to Pittsfield, Massachusetts in August, 1951, to check
out my new bride, Elsie Covell. Needless to say, they were
overwhelmed. Elsie and I visited with them in Madrid on two
occasions. I buried both in a cemetery north of Madrid.
Encarnita’s death was one of my eeriest events. We
were living in Miami at the time. For about a week I had Encarnita
on my mind. I had called her in Madrid. She said she was fine but a
bit lonely. Days past until early on morning I got this overwhelming
feeling that I HAD to go to Madrid to see to her. It was crazy but i
just had to go. I made travel plans and flew out that same night.
The plane arrived in Madrid early the next morning. I took a taxi to
her home, rode the elevator up to her 4th floor
apartment, and knocked on her door. A lady opened and ushered me in.
There was Encarnita on her bed, neatly dressed. She had died while I
flew across the Atlantic. We buried her that same afternoon
I
gleaned bits and pieces of the following story from letters,
mementos and papers left behind by Uncle Benito. The remainder comes
from my recollection of stories he told over those many years. Here
is the saga of Benito Loygorri in his words, as I, Bill Butler, can
best recall:
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When
I heard as a young boy the story of how Lement Ader flew in 1890
aboard “Eole” I received a life time infusion of love for the air
“Eole” which means “airplane” in French, remains forever as the name
for this type of machine. I was 18 when Orville Wright first flew
his plane “Flyer 1”, on December 17, 1903 across the beach at Kitty
Hawk. An airplane that could be controlled by a pilot caught my
young imagination since the one that Ader flew could not. In later
years, I never missed chasing after the Wright brothers when they
toured Europe. I saw them at Le Mans and at Pau in France, and
gobbled up their every word, together with that of other aerial
pioneers of the day like Farman, Bleriot, Voisin and Latham. These
men were my heroes.
On July 25, 1909 Louis Bleriot flew across the English Channel, his
feat proving that this type of craft had reached a state of
reliability that would permit long voyages. I knew now that I would
some day fly my own airplane and began to take classes at the Voisin
School in Mourmelon, near Reims. I had first thought of going to the
school in Moulineaux near Paris but the word got out that they were
having problems with aerial congestion.
The Voisin brothers had contracted with Hubert Latham to manage the
business and thanks to him I became proficient enough to fly alone
on extended trips around the countryside. I was friendly with people
in the government and when I heard Spain was about to establish an
Air Ministry and issue flying permits I jumped and was awarded
Pilots License #1 for Spain. The date on my pilots license is August
30, 1910. I was 25 years old. A few weeks later the heir to the
Spanish throne, Alfonso de Orleans y Borbon, who began to fly at the
same time as I and had attended many of the same air shows, did his
best to take my #1 license away. He failed and received License #2
on October 23, 1910.
I was invited to show off this novel machine to the
Queen of Spain at the newly inaugurated ‘Cuatro Vientos’ airdrome
near Madrid. I think Queen Maria Cristina was as excited as I since
she had heard so much about flying from her son, Alfonso. As soon as
she arrived she climbed onto a small wooden step and peered into my
plane, eyes busily prying into every detail of this wondrous new
machine. The Queen shook my hand, wished me luck and walked to the
shade of a large tree where several chairs had been placed. In the
picture below, the Queens party is directly behind my airplane.
I climbed aboard with the help of my aide who then
walked over to stand by the large wooden two bladed propeller that
was almost ten feet long. My bi-plane was a marvel in modern
technology. The engine of the latest design sat right behind me. It
rolled on the ground on four wheels. A stick between my legs was
connected with wires to the tail which would guide it right or left
and to the aileron that would make it go up or down. I’d flown it
several times before in Maumelon, France, then flew it down to
Madrid. The air Museum in Madrid today exhibits the purchase
contract for that plane as well as the little wooden step used by
the Queen.
Convinced the plane was ready to fly, I gave the signal to my aide
to spin the propeller, which to be sure was a job only for young
strong men. And smart too, for when the engine started he had to
quickly leap away from the huge propeller. After three tries the
motor coughed and came to life in a huge cloud of smoke. I adjusted
the mixture of the fuel and once it was running smoothly, I
increased the power through a small handle on my left side and began
to move. The Queen and her entourage sat agape.
The field had been neatly trimmed. I worked the plane back to a
fence, turned it around, checked the sound of the engine once again,
applied speed and began to move. About five hundred feet down the
field we were airborne. The day was bright and sunny with a light
breeze. I gently increased power and my plane rose to about 75 feet
and I kept it there as I circled the field. At full speed, perhaps
55 kilometers per hour, I flew right over the Queen and her
entourage, they all waving with much enthusiasm. My landing was
easy, and with no way to stop the plane, I eased it in gently and
stepped down. I think the Queen was the most excited of all the
people there.
I spent quite some time in the area around San Sebastian, Spain and
right across the French border in Biarritz, both very popular summer
resorts. The beach at San Sebastian is long and in the summer, full
of people taking the sun, and dipping in the cool water. During the
summer of 1910, I took to flying low over the beach together with my
buddies Tabuteau y Morane. On clear days with a dark blue sky we
would put on one heck of a show. Airplanes were still quite a rarity
and people from all over would jam the beach to watch the show.
Besides I had a cute girl friend in San Sebastian
whose parents had a house on the beach. Her name was Donostiarra de
Minondo, and she was as pretty as Basque girls get. One windy day I
was buzzing her house and on my third time around a gust caught me,
the plane dropped a bit, and the wheels touched the tiles on the
roof of her house, knocking off a bunch. Her father was steaming
mad, and I stayed far away for a couple of weeks. He cooled down to
the point where he allowed me to take her daughter up for a plane
ride.
We took off on October 1, 1910. All was going great.
We buzzed the beach at San Sebastian a half dozen times, flew out to
the hill on the Western point when suddenly I heard a faint sputter
from the engine. I quickly looked around for a place to land just in
case. The beach at San Sebastian was mobbed with people. My
girlfriend had no idea what was going on. With the sputtering
getting worse, I worked my way over to the Ondarriega Beach, also
loaded with people, and let her down just off the beach, in less
than one meter of water. Donostierra never flew with me again. As a
matter of fact, I don’t recall she ever spoke to me again either.
Good thing. Her father would have no doubt chopped me into small
chunks as the Basque’s are apt to do with people they don’t care
for. C’est la vie. Besides, I had a bunch of other girl friends.
Spain issued a series of stamps commemorating the
four air pioneers. I got the 10 peseta stamp.
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