The Art Of The Build
The Art Of The Build
Prose: Richard Souza
Photography: Richard Souza, James Woodard, Glenn Riegel, Christian Gross
Technical Advisor: Michael O'Neal
I have always been in awe of people with the skill and talent to build something. When I was given my first box of Legos™, I built a house that had the structural integrity of an umbrella in a hurricane. My Pops was a man of many talents and could build a little bit of everything. He once grabbed a wood board and with his Sandvik hand saw, cut me out a wooden rifle in 4 minutes flat. Despite having giant hands and the touch of a surgeon, he knew his limitations. I will never say, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, but will say it landed a couple of yards away. I know a thing or two about building, but my Pops always joked that, anything I ever built was “Government grade”.
The first man to build the wheel had it tough. He had to tinker and tinker and through trial and error, made it come to life. It’s the ability to translate thoughts from the brain to the hands and five fingers that makes all the difference. It wasn’t too long ago that two brothers took what they knew and what they had learned from those before them, built and flew the first “flying machine”. While building an airplane is one thing and flying it is another, they did both. Both building a plane and flying it takes skill and talent. I am convinced that after seeing my Lego house, my Pops felt humanity was safer if I were nudged toward a camera rather than a hammer.
Many decades later… I guess father knew best.
It is no secret that much of my time behind the camera has been spent at Golden Age Air Museum in Bethel, PA. At Golden Age, there is no shortage of things to shoot. During one of their many events, I found myself wandering from the crowd line. I was looking for something I could say was different.
Inside the restoration hangar, I saw something that looked more like a chunk of coal than a diamond in the rough. There was this bare tube structure airframe with some sheet metal on it. The sheet metal cowling looked interesting but was full of evenly spaced, protruding rivets. On a workbench were some blueprint copies that gave me an indication of how many karats this lump of coal would eventually have… 13 to be exact. These were the blueprints for a replica of a World War I Fighter. A true sports car of the air.
The SPAD S.XIII was designed by Louis Bechereau for the Société pour l'aviation et ses dérivés. This aircraft gained notoriety as the primary fighter for the Air Service’s First Pursuit Squadron. It was the aircraft flown by famed racing driver, Ace and Medal of Honor Recipient Eddie Rickenbacker. What I had before me was the early stages of a replica build…. from scratch.
At every event, I would poke my head in the hangar to see if there was any evolution. I knew this would take time, but it was more than just curiosity that made me check in, for I knew this build would not go the way of many other well-intentioned projects. With their experience in builds and restorations, this project was more than a dream… it was a vision that had wings.
In 2020, a lot of dreams vanished or were put on hold. The Earth stopped on its axis and Gort emerged from the alien craft as the earth stood still. As time moved on, and the restrictions eased, GAAM held one of their events. As I had done before, I poked my head in the hangar and noticed there was some progress on the SPAD build. The almost bare airframe was looking more like an aeroplane.
This rapid evolution made James Woodard and I think that maybe it would be a good idea to document the build. These opportunities don’t always present themselves and with nothing going on elsewhere, the timing was right. Over the following years, James and I would make regular and frequent visits to this little spot in Bethel, Pennsylvania.
When we started, we were only observing and photographing but after a few visits, we were contributing our 2 cents worth of labor by grabbing this and grabbing that and keeping Obi, the Golden Retriever, entertained in between naps. Our names don’t, won’t and shouldn’t appear on the final credits. We were just the flies on the wall or like George Plimpton in Paper Lion. We were more like those guys who come by just to shoot the shit and hand their friend a wrench while they work on their 1972 Volkswagen Beetle. This was a chance to feel connected with something epic. Over time, James and I would “sneak over” to the GAAM Maintenance hangar, knock three times and enter what felt like the golden age version of The Skunk Works.
When it comes to storytelling, I intentionally avoid delving into the technical aspects of an aircraft. My stories have always been centered on places and events and the magical people that make the difference. I always felt that the technical aspects detract from the true story. However, this story is different. I think that it is impossible to tell this story without “getting technical”. It is woven into the fabric. This story cannot be told without those details. So, please allow me this indulgence.
The original SPAD XIII was powered by a 220 HP geared-drive Hispano Suiza V-8 motor. Not only are these motors hard to find, but they cost more than a king’s ransom. Even if the aviation gods gifted the museum the golden motor, acquiring spare parts would be difficult. This plane was built to fly and this was why a modern 6-cylinder Continental O-470 was the motor of choice.
The O-470 is similar in weight and produces as much horsepower as the original Hispano Suiza. The only issue is this motor added four inches to the overall length, making the replica longer than the original. A few minor design changes were made, and components were stretched ever so slightly to preserve the overall proportions and aesthetics of the aircraft.
Safety is paramount and for that reason, the museum opted for a steel tube framework over the original wood and wire-braced fuselage core structure. Since the aircraft would be covered in fabric, this change would not be noticed. The structures like the wings, horizontal and vertical stabilizers and rudder would be built of spruce, ash and birch plywood, just as the original. This aircraft would not have operable .303 caliber machine guns and thus, the fuel system was simplified, and a 22-gallon gravity-fed fuel tank was installed in place of the ammo boxes. There is also a small auxiliary tank in the wing.
The wing panels of the SPAD XIII contained 88 ribs. These ribs not only provide the aerodynamic and structural rigidity but would be the way the museum would help finance this project. Donors were able to “sponsor a rib”. For their donation, they would be able to inscribe their name on the rib. The significance of the ribs goes much deeper. They are the emotional glue that will forever fly with the aircraft as every rib was hand crafted by the museum’s co-founder, the late Paul Dougherty Sr.
An aircraft is intricate. Like a human body, there are things that connect to doodads and thingies that are bolted on to whatchamacallits. It’s a life size jigsaw puzzle. As they say, Rome was not built in a day and those “how it is made” documentaries compress a marathon process into the time it takes to heat up a DiGiorno’s pizza. Building an airplane takes time and patience.
The workbenches were littered with properly labeled fittings, brackets, and cables. The sharpie was probably the most used tool. Keeping track of the nuts and bolts was just as important as tightening them. While confusing to us, everyone working on the plane knew exactly where everything was.
With every visit, we would see progress. That bare sheet metal cowling with protruding rivets began looking as if it was produced at Via Abertone Inferiore, 4 in Maranello, Italy. Pieces of wood were shaped, shaved, stained, and varnished. The components alone looked elegant. Machines may have aided the process, but hands put everything together.
After test fitting, the airplane was completely disassembled and prepped for covering. During this process, everything needed to be reinspected because once covered, it would be a monumental task to correct anything. In another departure from the original, the museum opted to use Ceconite instead of Irish linen. Ceconite is a covering that is used on more modern fabric covered planes.
At this stage, the hangar began looking less like a restoration hangar and more like a tailor’s shop. This plane got fitted with a nice set of glad rags. The fabric was cut, fitted, and glued to the fuselage and flying surfaces. The stitching of the fabric is a time-consuming process, as the SPAD has a lot of ribs on the wings and tail surfaces and the fabric must be tightly stitched to the ribs. The hangar became the proverbial sewing circle. While two or three stitched ribs, others watched and mimicked the stitching motions trying to learn the technique. Lack of concentration was rewarded with having to redo the entire rib stitch because a knot was not tight enough. Once completed, the fabric was given a couple of coats of nitrate dope to seal the fabric weave.
Bakers don’t put a cake on display until it is properly decorated. Paint is the Icing on the cake. Like the woodwork or fabric work, the painting is just an integral part of this aircraft as it not only contributes to the aerodynamics, but it is the major component of the historical accuracy and context. A bare SPAD is just a SPAD, but a painted SPAD tells a story.
The museum wanted this build to tie into Pennsylvania. This airplane was going to honor Pennsylvania native Major Charles Biddle who flew with the 13th Aero Squadron of the US Army Signal Corps. In 1918 the French used a standard 5-color camouflage for all aircraft. Different manufactures had subtle variations to the camouflage pattern. Major Biddle’s aircraft was constructed by the Freres Kellner company which employed a very linear pattern for most areas. Thankfully, there was research dating to the late 1960’s that showed that besides using artist pigments for the colors, the French incorporated aluminum flake into the mix which gave them a distinctively reflective quality and provided UV protection.
The museum hit the accuracy nail on the head by replicating (as close as possible), the paint that was used on the Major Biddle’s plane. They even followed the same painting process as was used during that period of the Great War. Three to four coats were used as compared to eight to ten on modern fabric covered aircraft. The reason was simple, as little dope/paint as possible was used during the war in order to reduce weight. James and I watched intently as Mike O’Neal mixed ounces of powder on a little digital scale. I know, it sounds like something “sketchy”, but this is how the pigments are mixed.
Once a batch of paint was produced, the color was applied to test fabric. Through many attempts, matches were achieved, and the surfaces could be painted. As the weeks and months passed, the dream was coming together. The painted fabric seemed to bring an excitement in the hangar and a brighter light at the end of the decade long tunnel. Piece by piece, the SPAD was assembled.
One cannot talk about this SPAD XIII build without touching on what I would consider the piece de resistance or the cherry on the icing of this multi layered gourmet work of art. “Oscar” was the affectionate name given to the 13th Aero Squadron’s insignia. The images of the skeleton grim reaper existed in photographs. With the artistic talent of Mike O’Neal, recreating this intimidating creature on the aircraft canvas wouldn’t be too tall of a task.
However, that would be the easy way out. The museum was determined to take this all the way.
Out in the airfields of France, the squadron insignia was painted on by use of a stencil. Through the museum’s connections, they were able to locate the actual brass template that was used to precisely mark the squadron’s aircraft. This may not sound like a big deal but think about it for a minute. The original template was saved by the artist and 13th Aero pilot Earle Richards and passed down to his Grandson Douglas Kane who keeps it in a frame hanging in his home. This is like striking gold in the Sequoia forest of Antarctica. This find put in motion preparations for an historic event.
On September 9, 2023, Golden Age Air Museum held the grand public reveal in an event with pomp and circumstance. In attendance were the descendants of Major Charles Biddle, Michael Webster (Grandson of 13th Aero Squadron Pilot Howard Stovall) Michael McKendry (great nephew of George Kull, 1st13th Aero Killed in Action) and the Executive Director of the Andalusia Historic House John Vick. Douglas Kane brought the frame containing the brass template, and for the first time since 1918, this was on display along with the pieces of original canvas with the squadron markings that belonged to the aircraft of Howard Stovall and Carl A. Spaatz (the latter going on to command the Eighth Air Force during WWII and the first Chief of Staff of the newly independent United States Air Force). Spaatz was a native of Boyerstown, 20 miles south of Bethel, Pennsylvania.
Following the emotional words and tear-filled eyes of museum President Paul Dougherty, the crowd gathered around the SPAD as the brass stencil template was removed from the frame and gingerly placed upon the side of the fuselage. Museum Director Mike O’Neal traced “Oscar” onto the beautifully painted aircraft. One by one, the special guests left their mark as they got the opportunity to paint a piece of “Oscar” on the canvas.
What many didn’t know was that within the crowd of unassuming folks huddled inside the hangar was world renowned aviation artist Keith Ferris. After the guests of honor stroked the brush along the traced line, Paul Dougherty paused and asked if Keith would do the honor of leaving his brush stroke on their aircraft. This was a moment that I tried to capture despite being blinded by a waterfall of tears. The reason is a story for a different day.
Like any project, not everything goes according to plan. Due to issues with the delivery of the propeller, the flight testing was delayed. Flight testing commenced in the fall of 2023 and after over a decade of hard work, the SPAD XIII flew its first official display at the Biplanes and Bands event in June of 2024. When the SPAD came to a rest, I looked at Paul Dougherty, smiled and said, “You all did it”.
Just like the build, this story is a long one. It all started with one photograph, and it morphed into something much greater. When the world shut down, James and I embarked on what would become a photo essay that was not so much about an aircraft but much more about the people who built it. Each one pitching in with whatever skill they possessed and if they didn’t have one, they were not afraid to learn. Those skills are evident as you walk up to the aircraft.
Looking at the details, one can only be in awe of the craftmanship, dedication and heart that was put into every piece of the SPAD. This wasn’t their first build, and we know that it may not be the last, but one thing is for sure, this one is special. During those uncertain times, it was important to have a place to go. Watching talent fly from fingertips and listen as everyone talked shop over a meatball parm, brought some sense of normalcy. We hovered over this group of dedicated and passionate people who built something from nothing but a dream. That “something of a dream” now flies and the stage is now set for the next build. Whatever and whenever it will be, the flavor will be different. But the art of the build is like the song… It remains the same.
A very special Thank you to our Friends at Golden Age Air Museum for allowing us the opportunity to photograph this build and trusting us to tell this story.
For more information on Charles J. Biddle and the Biddle's Family, visit the Andalusia Historic House, Gardens and Arboretum in Andalusia Pennsylvania. www.andalusiapa.org