Nary a soul was on the streets. Downtown Akron looked like a ghost town.
One hundred years ago, Mayor William T. Sawyer and the Akron Chamber of Commerce ordered all stores, factories and offices to shut down for the afternoon so citizens could witness history at Summit Lake.
Major intersections, normally bustling with traffic and pedestrians, fell eerily silent on June 14, 1911. Northern Ohio Traction & Light Co. added 100 streetcars to handle an overflow crowd pouring into Lakeside Park, an east-shore resort that would change its name to Summit Beach Park by decade's end. Coachmen in horse-drawn carriages and motorists in shiny new automobiles pulled to the side of the road and haphazardly parked wherever they could.
Nearly 50,000 spectators surrounded the lake — a remarkable number in an era when Akron's population was only 69,000.
Aviation pioneer Glenn H. Curtiss promised them something they never would forget.
The 33-year-old pilot, a native of Hammondsport, N.Y., was the invited guest of the Fraternal Order of Eagles, which was holding its Ohio convention in Akron. The pilot signed a $1,500 contract (about $35,400 today) to make three flights at Summit Lake in his ''hydro-aeroplane,'' a machine that worked equally well on the water or in the air.
Since many Summit County residents had yet to witness mechanical flight, the prospect of seeing ''a flying boat'' was too good to pass up.
''This will be the first time that this boat has been on exhibition before the general public,'' Curtiss said before the Akron event. ''I have made flights over Salt Lake, but that was a demonstration for the government officers. . . . I cannot say as to whether my flight here will be as successful as the flights I have made for the government. This is the smallest body of water I have ever attempted to make a start on.''
Curtiss shipped his flying machine in crates to Akron a couple of days before the Wednesday event. Mechanics carefully unpacked the components and assembled the craft under a big canvas tent at Lakeside Park.
The hydro-aeroplane looked like a box kite with bamboo braces, steel struts and rubberized silk. Powered by an eight-cylinder, 50-horsepower motor, the aircraft had a single wooden propeller in the back and a pontoon float in the middle. The pilot sat up front to control the throttle, brakes and rudders.
Newspaper reporters interviewed Curtiss at the Buchtel Hotel at Main and Mill streets, and followed him on a tour of Goodyear Tire & Rubber Co.
''The time will come when birdmen can cross the ocean, and the first type of machine to accomplish the feat will be a dirigible balloon,'' he predicted. ''Though I think it will someday be possible to cross the ocean with aircraft, I shall never try it.''
Spectators had ideal weather Wednesday: sunny, breezy and mild with temperatures in the upper 70s. Curtiss' first flight was scheduled for 2 p.m., but he delayed taking off until winds died down to 10 mph.
Motorboat races entertained the massive crowd waiting along the shore. Lakeside Park set up grandstands and tent shelters for the comfort of spectators. Free seats were reserved for 75 orphans from the Summit County Children's Home and 100 aged soldiers from veterans groups.
''The greater part of the crowd viewed the flights from the east side of the lake,'' the Beacon Journal reported. ''It is estimated that more than 15,000 persons occupied seats on that side. As far as the eye could reach, they could be seen, gathered in knots close to the shore, others on the hills, and still others on the roofs of houses.''
After two hours of tinkering with the aircraft, Curtiss decided it was time to fly. His student, Lt. Theodore G. Ellyson, the U.S. Navy's first aviator, helped workers move the plane from the tent to the water's edge.
Ellyson started the engine by turning the wooden propeller while Curtiss waited in the pilot's seat. A high-pitched drone filled the air, and the crowd let out a cheer as the plane lurched forward about 4:45 p.m.
In a trip lasting four minutes, Curtiss motored along the water in a complete circle of the lake. Then he pulled up, flying a few feet above the surface, and made an airborne circuit in a minute.
He alighted at the north end of the lake, took off again and stood up in his seat as spectators roared with approval. Curtiss rose 100 feet and zoomed down at 60 mph before skimming the water with barely a splash.
In his second flight at 4:53 p.m., Curtiss repeated the same maneuvers, but flew higher. When he alighted, he motored over to Lakeside Park to make a few adjustments to the craft.
He took off again at 5:15 p.m. and was nearly 500 feet up when the crowd gasped. Something had fallen off the airplane.
Three minutes into the flight, a 2-foot section of propeller blade broke off in the wind and plunged into the water. The plane wobbled erratically. Realizing he was in trouble, Curtiss went into a steep dive, leveled off near the water, skimmed the surface and made a breathtaking stop in front of the park.
The crowd went bonkers.
''Well, boys, I made the flights all right,'' the pilot told reporters after the flight. ''It was a rather risky proposition in the face of the puffs of wind that were striking the plane while in the air, but it's all over now.
''I was lucky to get down safely after part of that propeller went sailing into the lake. I was 500 feet in the air at the time, and it required delicate work to reach the lake without tipping. Luckily, the blades cleared everything.''
Although he was up in the air for only 20 minutes or so, Curtiss had demonstrated the world's first successful seaplane.
He returned home that night to New York. A month later, the pilot sold the U.S. Navy its first aircraft: the Curtiss A-1 Triad.
Today, Curtiss is heralded as ''The Father of Naval Aviation.'' His airplanes eventually crossed the ocean — just as he predicted in Akron. He became a rich man.
His company, Curtiss Aeroplane & Motor Co., merged with Wright Aeronautics Corp. in 1929 to form the Curtiss-Wright Corp., a global giant today.
Curtiss was only 52 in 1930 when he died of a blood clot during surgery for appendicitis.
His famed flights at Summit Lake, a source of local pride, were the subject of Akron postcards. Witnesses remembered that day as a major event in local history. If you had ancestors living in town 100 years ago, they probably were in attendance.
Today, airplanes fly over Summit Lake all the time. They are so common that residents barely notice them overhead.
Try to imagine nearly 50,000 people gathering to see one.
For information about Glenn H. Curtiss, visit http://www.glennhcurtissmuseum.org.mjprice@thebeaconjournal.com.
