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In 1930, thousands cheered…gasped…and then fell silent at what they witnessed.
During the Depression, local aviators resorted to creative means to fund their activities. Flying was expensive. Flying lessons cost $12 an hour, and bankers refused to provide loans to purchase planes. Insurance agents considered flying too risky to write any life insurance policies on the pilots. The financial risk of damaging and then having to repair one’s plane or of suffering personal injury or even death was completely on the shoulders of those who chose to go airborne.
Clayton Lemon and Frank Reynolds knew well the risks and costs of what many considered an expensive and dangerous hobby. So precarious were the financials of flying, the sheriff once confiscated one of Lemon’s airplanes to pay off unpaid hangar rent. To weather the Depression, Lemon and Reynolds would fly to some cow pasture on the weekend and have “Penny A Pound Day.” Anyone wanting a ride in the craft would be charged on the basis of their weight – literally one penny for every pound. Passengers were weighed on a big scale and charged accordingly.
A regular at these events was then Congressman Clifton Woodrum, whose interest in flying was well-known. His occasional presence at the weekend events added to the show.
In addition to selling rides, Lemon and Reynolds often enhanced their air shows by partnering with parachutists. Crowds would look skyward as a jumper would climb out of the open-air cockpit, grip the frame of the wing, steady himself erect and then leap into the air. A hat would be passed in the crowd beforehand as earnings for the parachutist’s daredevil act.
Raymond Ross, 25, of Roanoke was known to Lemon and Reynolds as one of the few locals that regularly jumped. On a weekend in February of 1930 word spread that Ross would be making a leap that Sunday afternoon at Cook Field which was located adjacent to Route 11 midway between Salem and Roanoke. “Parachute Jumper to Make 5,000-Foot Drop” read a small headline in the Roanoke Times. Ross had made about a dozen such leaps and his signature act was to free-fall halfway before opening his chute.
By mid-afternoon on February 9th, an estimated 3,000 people had congregated at Cook Field to watch Ross tempt death. Ross casually moved about the crowd as his friends passed the hat. Ross told some in the crowd that his plan was to jump at 5,000 feet, drop about 3,000 feet and then pull the rip cord. At 3:40 p.m., Ross put on his heavy parachute pack and climbed into the plane piloted by Lemon.
The crowd watched as Lemon circled the field, and with each pass ascend higher into the sky. Reynolds soon followed in his own plane with passengers Harry Economy and Luck Nininger who would watch the jump from the air.
At 3,300 feet, Ross eased his way out of the front cockpit and moved cat-like to the wing. Lemon handed Ross the ring on the end of his rip cord and asked, “All set?” Ross replied, “O.K.” With that, Ross paused, turned, and leapt just as the plane passed over the east end of the field.
Quiet fell across the crowd. Some stepped from their cars to get a better view. Howard Broyles, 17, and Charles Camper, 16, were working near the Cook dairy barn and paused to see Ross jump.
Within seconds some who had seen Ross jump before sensed something had gone wrong. Ross was falling with his back to the ground, stiff and motionless. Finally, the chute flare opened, but Ross was less than 1,000 feet from the ground and plunging rapidly. The crowd gasped as his figure moved to the earth behind a grove of trees.
Broyles and Camper raced from the barn, across a small knoll and were the first to reach Ross’ lifeless body near the Virginian Railroad tracks. The parachute pack had opened, but only two feet of cord had come out. Hundreds sprinted across the open field to join Broyles and Camper. From the air, Reynolds and Lemon buzzed their planes low over the body to direct those on the ground in their search.
Dr. G.M. Maxwell, who lived nearby, notified authorities in Salem and soon Deputy Sheriff J.L. Richardson, accompanied by Dr. A.L. Kolmer, arrived to conduct an investigation. Many in the crowd got in their cars and drove slowly home, but hundreds remained at the airfield until dusk when the body was removed to Oakey’s Funeral Home in Salem.
In Ross’ pocket was found a log of his activities that noted the parachute was packed the night before by Ross and a friend, E.P. Duling. Ross had written that the silk chute was in perfect condition. Duling was at the field when Ross jumped and reiterated to authorities exactly what Ross had written in his log. Duling had no explanation as to why the chute had failed other than Ross pulled the rip cord too late in his descent. Some in the crowd claimed to have smelled liquor on Ross’ breath prior to the jump, but Kolmer ruled that out in his autopsy.
“Accidental death from chute not opening in time, was giving an exhibition of jumping from plane…body crushed, back broken, skull crushed…fall of 3,000 feet,” read the report.
Ross had lived in Roanoke for 16 years and had been employed by the Norfolk & Western Railway. Leaving the railroad during a strike, Ross went to Florida where he learned to parachute and for most of 1929 had been jumping regularly at local airfields for whatever he could collect from onlookers. Ross and his wife Mary had a one-year-old son, and they lived with his sister on Church Avenue.
Prior to the jump, Ross had spoken with a local newspaper reporter. Handing the reporter what had been collected from passing the hat, Ross said, “Take this. If I come back, I will get it. And, if I make a good exhibition this afternoon, I will expect to see something in the paper Monday.”
The reporter made certain Ross’ widow got the proceeds. The hat contained $11.74.
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