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Post by komata on Jun 15, 2014 18:20:31 GMT 12
Dave
Re: 'A person who's name and story is known to practically everyone in New Zealand, who didn't really achieve much at all. He must be our Nation's first ever "celebrity"?'
Not so sir, there were many others before him, and had it not been for the late Sir George Bolt (AVM RNZAF etc.), finding bits of machinery in a rubbish dump, Pearce would probably have never been 'resuscitated' from obscurity to become the well-known' individual he is today.
FWIW: If by the term 'Celebrity' you mean 'The condition of being celebrated: fame; a person of distinction'(1) I would submit the following names for your consideration: These are all 'Celebrities' of Nineteenth Century New Zealand. The list is a quick 'top of my head' one, so is not exhaustive, and in no particular date or alphabetical order:
Edwin Gibbon Wakefield Sir Julius Vogel Richard John (King Dick) Seddon Gabriel Read Sir William Fox The 'Honourable' Thatcher Joseph Bracken Sir William Fox Sir George Grey Charles Ring Sir John Logan Campbell Te Rapuruaha Hongi Hika Bishop Selwyn George Moonlight Thomas Brunner Charles Hochstedder Charles Lightband William Burgess (Burgess Kelly Gang) William Daldy Alexander Turnbull James Mackay Charles Heaphy Hone Heke John McCombie
Etc. etc. etc.(there are many, many, more, all well known and 'people of distinction' (aka 'Celebrities') before Richard Pearce.
Hope this helps.
_______________________
Charles Annandale, Home Study Dictionary, ([n.p.], Haddock, 1975), s.v.celebrity
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Post by komata on Jun 17, 2014 9:08:01 GMT 12
Ian
Fair point, but my list was submitted to illustrate the the fact that there had been other 'celebrities' before Pearse, whom, as far as I can gather, was initially not even widely known within his own district, and within that community was viewed as being somewhat 'eccentric'. I seem to recall that the term 'Mad' Pearse was bestowed on him by various locals.
Having said that, it would seem that, with time, Pearse did become more widely known, so perhaps may have indeed become a 'Celebrity' in his own right, or at least, some sort of 'expert' in the field of aviation. In support of this 'possibility', the following may be of interest. The article directly-below (published in 1909) appears on the National Library of New Zealand online site 'Papers Past', under the 'search heading' 'Richard Pearse'.
'A young South Canterbury farmer, who has for some years past been working in secret in an endeavour to perfect a flying machine, considers that he has now nearly reached the goal at which he is aiming. he intends to make a trial flight with his airship at an early date. The framework of the ship is of bamboo, the wings all of calico, and the propelling power is a 24-h.p. motor. The inventor is Mr. Richard Pearse of Waitohi'.(1)
This story was repeated verbatim in the Marlborough Expresss (4 November 1909), Colonist (9 November 1909) and Manawatu Standard (10 November 1909).
It should be noticed that the article refers to an 'airship' NOT an 'aeroplane', and since by 1909 New Zealander's were familiar with both forms of aerial transport, I cannot see that this was a misprint on the part of the newspaper. As I've never seen any reference to this particular craft (although I may have missed it), can anyone provide any details?
As well, In respect of the vexed question (and his posthumous 'claim to fame'), as to whether or not Pearse actually flew (as we now understand the term) before anyone else (especially the Wright Brother's), I would refer any interested readers to the article 'A FLYING MACHINE: New Zealander's Invention' which appeared in the Clutha Leader of 30 November 1909(2).
This article also appears on Papers Past, and as it is a long one, I won't reproduce it here. However, IMHO, the crucial words within that article would be as follows:
'...When I was a young man I conceived the idea of a flying machine. I DID NOT ATTEMPT ANYTHING PRACTICAL WITH THE IDEA (caps added,for emphasis) until in 1904 the St. Louis Exposition authorities offered a prize...to the man who invented and flew a flying machine over a specified course'.
Pearse, after acknowledging that in fact no-one won the prize, then proceeds to give details of his new flying machine.
As we can see, by his own admission Pearse didn't achieve 'controlled' flight as we now understand the term, and even allowing for his acknowledged shyness, to say that he did would seem to be drawing a somewhat long bow...
Trusting that the articles will be of interest, I would emphasise that by doing-so I do not intend to 'stir'.
______________________________
(1) [n.a.], 'News of the Day', Press, 3 November 1909, p.3. (2) [n.a.], 'A FLYING MACHINE; New Zealander's Invention', Clutha Leader, 30 November 1909, p. 6.
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Post by errolmartyn on Jun 17, 2014 12:28:54 GMT 12
Ian Fair point, but my list was submitted to illustrate the the fact that there had been other 'celebrities' before Pearse, whom, as far as I can gather, was initially not even widely known within his own district, and within that community was viewed as being somewhat 'eccentric'. I seem to recall that the term 'Mad' Pearse was bestowed on him by various locals. Having said that, it would seem that, with time, Pearse did become more widely known, so perhaps may have indeed become a 'Celebrity' in his own right, or at least, some sort of 'expert' in the field of aviation. In support of this 'possibility', the following may be of interest. The article directly-below (published in 1909) appears on the National Library of New Zealand online site 'Papers Past', under the 'search heading' 'Richard Pearse'. 'A young South Canterbury farmer, who has for some years past been working in secret in an endeavour to perfect a flying machine, considers that he has now nearly reached the goal at which he is aiming. he intends to make a trial flight with his airship at an early date. The framework of the ship is of bamboo, the wings all of calico, and the propelling power is a 24-h.p. motor. The inventor is Mr. Richard Pearse of Waitohi'.(1) This story was repeated verbatim in the Marlborough Expresss (4 November 1909), Colonist (9 November 1909) and Manawatu Standard (10 November 1909). It should be noticed that the article refers to an 'airship' NOT an 'aeroplane', and since by 1909 New Zealander's were familiar with both forms of aerial transport, I cannot see that this was a misprint on the part of the newspaper. As I've never seen any reference to this particular craft (although I may have missed it), can anyone provide any details? As well, In respect of the vexed question (and his posthumous 'claim to fame'), as to whether or not Pearse actually flew (as we now understand the term) before anyone else (especially the Wright Brother's), I would refer any interested readers to the article 'A FLYING MACHINE: New Zealander's Invention' which appeared in the Clutha Leader of 30 November 1909(2). This article also appears on Papers Past, and as it is a long one, I won't reproduce it here. However, IMHO, the crucial words within that article would be as follows: '...When I was a young man I conceived the idea of a flying machine. I DID NOT ATTEMPT ANYTHING PRACTICAL WITH THE IDEA (caps added,for emphasis) until in 1904 the St. Louis Exposition authorities offered a prize...to the man who invented and flew a flying machine over a specified course'. Pearse, after acknowledging that in fact no-one won the prize, then proceeds to give details of his new flying machine. As we can see, by his own admission Pearse didn't achieve 'controlled' flight as we now understand the term, and even allowing for his acknowledged shyness, to say that he did would seem to be drawing a somewhat long bow... Trusting that the articles will be of interest, I would emphasise that by doing-so I do not intend to 'stir'. ______________________________ (1) [n.a.], 'News of the Day', Press, 3 November 1909, p.3. (2) [n.a.], 'A FLYING MACHINE; New Zealander's Invention', Clutha Leader, 30 November 1909, p. 6. As explained in a previous post of mine under another thread of the same name, the 'nothing practical' statement was made by Pearse to a reporter from the Timaru Post (not yet online at Papers Past) who visited him on site on 16 November 1909. For those who don't feel the need to support ground-breaking research through purchase of the writer's book on the subject (profits to the AHSNZ) or can't be bothered to borrow a copy from the library, or can't be bothered carrying out a simple search of the forum to see if what they are about to post is mere repetition, here is what I posted on 25 April 2012: 26 Apr 2012 at 4:25pm Post by errolmartyn on 26 Apr 2012 at 4:25pm For those who are interested, and given that the paper is not yet available for online viewing on Papers Past, here is a full transcript of the Timaru Post's 17 November 1909 report. In my book it was edited down to about half this size, though Richard Pearse's account in his own words still appears in full. TIMARU POST WEDNESDAY 17/11/1909 PAGE 4 AFTER FIVE YEARS A NEW ZEALAND FLYING MACHINE COMPLETED MR RICHARD PEARSE OF WAITOHI THE INVENTOR A newspaper reporter receives curious instructions from time to time, but surely none more curious or pleasing than that which awaited the writer, a “Post” representative, on his arrival at the office on Tuesday morning. It read, with that brevity peculiar to editors, “Inspect Mr Richard Pearse’s flying-machine at Waitohi.” A quick ride in the express train to Temuka, and an inquiry of a very respectable hotelkeeper put me on the track leading to the house of Mr Pearse. Here I was assured, I would probably receive directions as to the whereabouts of Mr Richard Pearse, the inventor. Mr Pearse senior, lives in a fine brick residence across the river bridge to the south-west of the thriving little town of Temuka. I write these directions now with the easy flowing pen of knowledge, but my knowledge was a peculiarly dim affair at the moment that I cycled across the bridge, and found myself face to face with two handsome mansions, fifty yards or so apart from each other. To locate the particular house I wanted I decided was an easy matter, and cycling up to the gate of the place that suited my conception of what would suit a retired farmer, I entered at a brisk step. I returned with a brisker step. A dog, that under any other circumstances I should probably have considered a handsome animal, rose majestically at my entrance, and yawned. With that quick observation peculiar to men faced with untoward circumstances, I discerned that the beast’s teeth were in perfect condition, and that the beast itself bore a striking resemblance to the infamous bloodhound breed. To place the gate between my framework and that the of dog was the work of a moment. To decide my next step was the work of several moments; but they passed, in course of time, and my decision was that for the sake of a mere inquiry, further acquaintance with that dog was, entirely unnecessary. I therefore moved on to the next house, and was on the eve of entering when a farmer’s dray, four horses, and the farmer himself, came abreast of me. I inquired the locality of Mr Pearse’s residence. “Which Pearse? Why, that’s a fine horse,” he added, turning his head in the direction of a hack that was being urged by its rider across the stream. Then to his leading horse he gave the direction, “Gee-up, Bess.” “I say, what about Pearse’s?” I suggested. “What Pearse?” “Mr Pearse, senior. The father of Richard Pearse, the inventor.” “Oh, aye, so it’s the flying-machine ye’re after. Wal, I wish ye luck. Gee-up Bess.” “But, I say, friend, you haven’t answered my question. Do you know where Mr Pearse, senior lives?” “Oh, aye, of coorse. He lives o’er there,” and my gifted acquaintance pointed to the house with the dog. I stood reflecting for a moment about things in general and the dog in particular. The remembrance of that fateful instruction “Inspect Richard Pearse’s flying-machine” at length roused me to action. “No,” I decided, “a miserable dog should not deter me from the path of duty.” So cutting from a willow tree that grew by the river’s edge a fine switch, the very swish of which as I swung it through the air raised within me the courage of my ancestors, I made the return journey to the brick house. The dog was still there, and rose in that wretched majestic fashion of his as I approached him. I called to him, and told him that he was a good dog, and he licked his lips appreciatively; but he made no move to let me pass. Time was flying, and “Inspect Richard Pearse’s flying machine” were five words that were stamped on my brain, and repeated themselves with cheerful persistency. I opened the gate and entered, and that dog – never shall I forget his kindness – actually turned his back upon me and conducted me to the door. I rang once, twice, thrice, but there was no answer. The dog stood behind me, watching my actions in grim silence. I decided, somewhat hurriedly, it is true, that Mr Pearse, senior, was not at home, and turned to depart. The dog turned too, and in the same stately fashion conducted me to the gate. Once I was safely off the premises, the animal turned his back upon me, and I watched him go quietly back to his old position by the doorstep and resume his recumbent posture. I had wasted three-quarters of an hour circumventing one peaceful dog. The sun was by this time throwing off a blistering heat, and I had been given to understand that I had exactly five miles of none too good road between me at the start of my journey and Waitohi. It is not my purpose to weary the reader with a description of that tiresome journey. Suffice it to say that I have had burned into my brain the truth that a countryman’s mile and a townsman’s mile are two entirely different things. The actual distance from Temuka to Mr Richard Pearse’s farm at Waitohi is nine miles. At the end of what I considered was about five miles, but what I now suppose was actually about three, I got off my machine and inquired of an intelligent specimen of a country youth his estimate of the distance to Mr Richard Pearse’s. “About a mile further on,” he made answer. I went on for about a mile, and seeing a small cottage by the way, I stopped, knocked at the door, and put to the buxom lassie who appeared the old question. “About a mile straight on,” she replied with a smile that would have interested me on any other day and under any other circumstances. As it was, I briefly – almost curtly, I am afraid – returned thanks. I traversed a full townsman’s mile and coming to a cross-road and a horse, vehicle, and man simultaneously, I put to the latter “the” question. “About a mile further on,” came the answer. Had I not be brought up differently, I should certainly have sworn; but I cycled on until I came to a number of wandering horses and an isolated school. To the latter I made my way and knocked. A fair lady answered, and to her I put the question. She could not give me the information I sought, she said, but perhaps one of the scholars could. With that she disappeared into the schoolroom. I was satisfied, however, she had not uttered those words, “A mile further on.” The teacher had been gone barely a minute when a lad of about fourteen years of age made his appearance. He was brimming over with information, and there was nothing I wanted to know that he did not know. He knew Mr Richard Pearse well, and he had also seen the flying machine, and, what was more important, he had seen it fly. Did not Mr Pearse keep his machine a secret, then? Oh, no, he kept it in an open field, and anybody could see it from the roadside. How far was it to the place? Just three miles! Mr Pearse lived in a hut that you could see from the road after you passed the second crossing. I thanked the lad fervently, and pressed on; and without further ado reached the field and the hut described by the boy, and, accompanied by a yelping cur which made his appearance from beneath a dray in the centre of the field, I crossed the field and rapped at the door of the dilapidated old structure. “Come in,” said a cheery voice. I entered. The impression made upon my mind is one that I know will never be effaced. To the right of me was an empty room resembling a miniature barn, littered with sacks and chaff. In the passage, immediately in front of me, rested three pieces of mechanism, built of bamboo poles and sail, for all the world resembling the spars and sails of a yacht. To the left of me, however, was the room. It was only with the utmost difficulty that I was able to bear in mind that I was nine miles away from what townsmen call civilisation. Here in the open field, two miles away from the nearest dwelling, I was face to face with the replica of an up-to-date engineering establishment. There stood the forcing furnace, the time honoured lathe, bits, bores, and innumerable other tools. The litter of scrap-iron, tins, oils, wire etc, inseparable from an engineering establishment, was there; and in the midst of it all, king of his own little den, stood the inventive genius himself, Richard Pearse – the man who day in and day out, from 8 o’clock in the morning until 6 o’clock in the evening, for five long, weary years, with a patience and doggedness almost inhuman, had plodded on, plodden on, until the very chink of his chisel would seem to have become tragically monotonous, and the mention of a flying-machine an anathema. But it is, and for Richard Pearse, happily not so. The man is an enthusiast, heart and soul. He is as fresh, as happy, as healthy, and as determined as the day, when five years ago, he set out to achieve the dream of his life – the inventing and making of a flying machine. And has he succeeded? Well, it would appear so. The beautiful network of machinery, bamboo, wire, and tarpaulin – looking for all the world like a huge spider’s web, with a fly in the centre and wings at the rear and at either side – answers affirmatively. From the equilibrium rudders at the sides and the guiding rudder at the tail to the propeller at the front and the engines in the centre, the machine is entirely original and demonstrates clearly the untiring patience, indomitable pluck, and engineering skill of the inventor. But perhaps it would be well to tell Richard Pearse’s tale in his own words. For the information of those who have not had the privilege of meeting this silent worker on the plains, I might mention that he is a man of both striking personality and appearance. He is of good physique, stands well over six feet in his socks, and his hands are large and hardened as those of a man well used to the rough toil of life. His story is simply told, and put in connected form, reads as follows:- “I am the son of a farmer, and have two brothers, both of whom, and myself, are bachelors. My father is a retired man, and lives with my mother at Temuka. His farm is cut up between myself and brothers. The labour of my portion I lease and I make sufficient out of the farm to live comfortably and pursue my hobby. From the time I was quite a little chap, I had a great fancy for engineering, and when I was still quite a young man I conceived the idea of inventing a flying machine. I did not attempt anything practical with the idea until in 1904, the St Louis Exposition authorities offered a prize of £20,000 to the man who invented and flew a flying machine over a specified course. I did not, as you know, succeed in winning the prize, neither did anybody else. But I succeeded sufficiently to realise that there was a future before the flying machine, and to send me on the course which is now within a week or two of complete success. Many of the parts of my machine have been used on the other side of the waters. I do not say, mind you, that my inventions have been copied; it is but natural that different men working on the same ideas, should arrive at the same conclusions. But, I will say that many of my inventions have come into use on the other side of the world since my own were patented in New Zealand. Almost every portion of my machine is of my own exclusive manufacture. The 25-horse power petrol engine (in four parts) and radiator are built by myself specially for a flying machine. The lightest 25-h.p. engine in the world, to my knowledge, weighs somewhere in the vicinity of 300lbs. My 25-h.p. water-cased engine weighs 100lbs only, turns the four sheet steel propeller blades at the rate of 800 revolutions to the minute, and under the very severe tests to which I have subjected it, has never shown the slightest sign of failure. My propeller connects direct with the crank shaft, thus obviating the necessity for clutches or any other weighty gear. The whole secret of a flying machine is in its lightness, and sustaining power. My machine weighs altogether, with me in it, only 500lbs, as against 1000 and 2000lbs the weights of the machines on the other side of the world. I have 900ft of sustaining area, as against 500 and 700ft, the sustaining areas of the 1000lb and 2000lb machines in the northern hemisphere. The action of a flying machine is simply that the propeller drives the machine along, and like a boy with his kite, as soon as a certain velocity is attained (in the case of my machine 12 miles an hour) the machine is elevated with its tricycle into the air, and sustained there by the sustaining 900ft of canvas beneath the body of the machine. Would the machine drop instantly if the propeller stopped revolving? Certainly not; the machine would descend as gracefully as a parachute. At the present moment my rear rudder is slightly too heavy for the rear of the machine, and I am shifting it to the front, when every piece of the working mechanism will be within my sight as I sit in the machine. I have had several tests. Last week’s was my most successful one, the machine rising readily, but tilting gradually at the rear owing to the rudder position disturbing the equilibrium. As you may imagine, after five years’ labour without a return, and the expenditure of about 300 pound in raw material, I cannot afford to take any risks with my machine. Next week, if my trial is satisfactory, I will make preparations for the giving of public exhibitions. The whole of the parts of my machine are held together with steel pins, and can be taken to pieces and packed with very little trouble. There is no commercial value in a flying machine itself at present. If I can get my machine right for flying exhibitions throughout Australasia, within a very short time, my fortune is made. If through any cause I am delayed, and foreign machines are exhibited here, I will simply get no return; but that will not prevent me bringing my machine to perfection. I am now getting 800 revolutions per minute out of my propeller, and, if necessary, I am prepared to put into it an invention I have just completed and am patenting – a 50-h.p. petrol engine weighing a little over 100lbs. The engine, itself, will be unique in the scientific world, but if I have to resort to it, it will delay the exhibiting of my machine for another three or four months. But I hope to do without the new engine and be in the position to give exhibition flights on my machine in the course of two or three weeks. Would you like to see the petrol engine and propeller in operation?” I admitted that I would, and my desire was promptly gratified. The engine was set going, the propeller was given a twist or two, and with a suddenness wholly unprovided for, I was almost blown off my feet by a veritable hurricane of wind. The propeller blades spun round until they appeared as mere shadows in the daylight; the machine heaved and rattled like a living thing, seeming every moment as if it would spring from the earth and disappear. The smile of supreme contentment that lit up the face of Richard Pearse as he watched the life-like movements of the thing of his own creation was alone worth going to Waitohi to see. A touch of the hand, and the vibrating mechanism was as dead as a stone. It was then that I recollected that the last train left Temuka at 6.18 and that I had no chance of catching it. But I was content to lose it. I had seen the first completed flying machine in Australasia, and that was worth missing a dozen trains to see. It was therefore in a cheerful spirit that, after partaking of the lavish hospitality of the Pearse Brothers at their bachelor house, a couple of miles distant, I crossed the seat of my antiquated bicycle – one of the first I imagine that was imported into New Zealand – and pedalled the fifteen miles to home and Timaru. It might be mentioned for the information of those who find time hanging on their hands, that the machine in question is not yet open to minute public inspection, but will be as soon as the inventor is ready. Errol
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Post by ErrolC on Jun 17, 2014 12:40:46 GMT 12
Ian Fair point, but my list was submitted to illustrate the the fact that there had been other 'celebrities' before Pearse, whom, as far as I can gather, was initially not even widely known within his own district, and within that community was viewed as being somewhat 'eccentric'. I seem to recall that the term 'Mad' Pearse was bestowed on him by various locals. Having said that, it would seem that, with time, Pearse did become more widely known, so perhaps may have indeed become a 'Celebrity' in his own right, or at least, some sort of 'expert' in the field of aviation. In support of this 'possibility', the following may be of interest. The article directly-below (published in 1909) appears on the National Library of New Zealand online site 'Papers Past', under the 'search heading' 'Richard Pearse'. 'A young South Canterbury farmer, who has for some years past been working in secret in an endeavour to perfect a flying machine, considers that he has now nearly reached the goal at which he is aiming. he intends to make a trial flight with his airship at an early date. The framework of the ship is of bamboo, the wings all of calico, and the propelling power is a 24-h.p. motor. The inventor is Mr. Richard Pearse of Waitohi'.(1) This story was repeated verbatim in the Marlborough Expresss (4 November 1909), Colonist (9 November 1909) and Manawatu Standard (10 November 1909). It should be noticed that the article refers to an 'airship' NOT an 'aeroplane', and since by 1909 New Zealander's were familiar with both forms of aerial transport, I cannot see that this was a misprint on the part of the newspaper. As I've never seen any reference to this particular craft (although I may have missed it), can anyone provide any details? ... (1) [n.a.], 'News of the Day', Press, 3 November 1909, p.3. (2) [n.a.], 'A FLYING MACHINE; New Zealander's Invention', Clutha Leader, 30 November 1909, p. 6. I see that Errol Martyn has responded about the discovery of these articles. Amusingly, I was just reading his article on the subject in The Aviation Historian magazine Issue 7. Regarding the term 'airship', it was common at the time to refer to any sort of flying machine as such. As Wikipedia puts it (with references): en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Airship#Airship
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Post by nuuumannn on Jun 18, 2014 14:41:28 GMT 12
It sure is, Komata. The thing about Pearse is that I don't think he was a celebrity at all at the time that those newspaper articles were published, as intriguing as they were/are, since I doubt the readership of the Clutha Leader or the Manawatu Standard for example would extend far beyond the local areas. The fact that he made it into these papers shows that he was keen to promote his efforts, regardless of what they were or were not, but I doubt he had the nation abuzz with speculation at the time. In fact I'd hazard a guess that most readers would have regarded Pearse as a crackpot or on the other hand with the merest curiosity, but little else. Once the local farmer reading the Marlborough express had finished with the paper, he would have forgotten entirely who this Pearse fellow from down country was and gotten on with his chores for the rest of the day. Like Errol said, Pearse's popularity/notoriety has come about owing to the controversy surrounding the claims made by the eye witnesses forty to fifty years later and embellishments from Rodliffe and Ogilvie subsequently. I remember when I was doing research into Scottish aviator Preston Watson, another one of these might have done so, but did not fly in 1903 early aviators - see here for more info: rockingwings.tripod.com/home.html I came into contact with Philip Jarrett and the former editor of Aeroplane Monthly, Mick Oakey, whom in 2003 published a series of critiques on claimants of powered flight before the Wrights, which included a probing piece about Pearse. Once the issue went to press, Jarrett and Oakey told me that they had received death threats in letters from New Zealand. Astonishing that people would hold their views on this matter so much to heart that they would resort to such desperate acts. Oh, it's Te Rauparaha. I'd also like to add Te Kooti; a man whose notoriety was country wide during his brush with history.
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