Cheston Eshelman: The Man Who Tried to Fly to Mars

 

The image of the eccentric inventor has long been a stereotype in film and literature, and, from Nikola Tesla to Buckminster Fuller, history records no shortage of such men and women. These, to quote O'Shaughnessy, are the dreamers of dreams; while some visionaries pride themselves for their ability to think outside the box, only a select handful do away with the box entirely and chart their own course.
One such visionary, Cheston Lee Eshelman, was born and raised right here in Pennsylvania. And the course he charted for himself included a trip to Mars in a 1930s-era lightweight monoplane.

From Apples to Aviation

Born in 1917 in the rural Adams County village of McKnightstown, Cheston was the son of Samuel Eshelman and Bertha Musselman Eshelman. Samuel Eshelman was a successful fruit grower, owning one of the largest apple orchards in Adams County, while Cheston's mother was the sister of Christian H. Musselman, founder of the fruit processing company which made the Musselman brand of applesauce famous throughout the world.

Cheston's father, owner of Fox Hill Farm, was an early advocate of farming technology. One article from the Gettysburg Times in 1925 describes how Samuel Eshelman grew his enterprise from 500 bushels of apples per year to over 10,000 by embracing production methods that were state-of-the-art at the time. Mechanical graders sorted the apples by size, machines assisted in packaging the fruit, and Samuel's mastery of logistics resulted in Fox Hill Farm apples being shipped to every corner of the country, as far away as the Panama Canal Zone.

Having grown up surrounded by farming and manufacturing equipment, Cheston developed a keen understanding of mechanics, but he was an adventurer at heart. Shortly before his graduation from Boiling Springs High School in 1935, he suffered a serious leg injury in a motorcycle crash after colliding with an automobile on the Old York Road between Boiling Springs and Mount Holly Springs. He would spend the next nine months in the Harrisburg Hospital undergoing a series of operations in order to save his gangrenous leg.

After high school, Cheston headed south to Gainesville and enrolled at the University of Florida Aeronautics School, graduating the following year. While still a student, he set up a business manufacturing collapsible canvas kayaks based on a design he invented. Cheston's oomiaks, as the boats were known, sold briskly throughout Florida and were in high demand by Everglades resort owners.

Upon graduation, Cheston accepted a position as mechanic for the Glenn L. Martin Company, a Baltimore-based airplane manufacturer, earning $30 a week. In his spare time, he also took flying lessons in Carlisle, and eventually obtained a pilot's license. The aerial views of the rolling farmland and mountain ridges of the Cumberland Valley eventually grew tiresome, however. Cheston wanted to tackle a new frontier, and, so, in June of 1939, he took a vacation from his job and departed for New Jersey without saying a word to anyone and rented a room at the YMCA in Camden.

Eshelman's Flight of Fancy

Though he had just four hours of solo flying time under his belt, Cheston rented a brand-new Luscombe high-wing monoplane for a one-hour flight from Edward Walz at the Camden Airport on June 5. But the 22-year-old aviator had other plans; after taking off that evening with enough fuel for 55 miles, Cheston failed to return. Instead, he flew to Pitcairn Airport in Willow Grove to refuel before absconding with the rented aircraft. Having minimal instruction on radio and compass flying, it was feared that Cheston had gone down into the Atlantic. A bulletin was issued, and the waters off the New Jersey coast were scanned for debris by search planes.

Nothing more was heard or seen of Cheston Eshelman until the following morning, when the missing aircraft was spotted by crewmen aboard the fishing trawler Storm, off the coast of Massachusetts near Georges Banks. According to the ship's crew, the pilot of the plane hovered over the trawler and lowered a message in a five-gallon oil can asking the direction of the nearest land. Before they could send up a reply telling him to head west, the pilot flew off in the opposite direction. That was at 7:10 a.m.

Ninety minutes later, Cheston was aboard another trawler, the Villanova, after being rescued at sea. Chester Malik, radio officer of the Villanova, sent the following message to the United Press, who had been closely following the search for the lost pilot:

Cheston L. Eshelman, flying a Luscombe land plane, NC 22070, from Pitcairn Airport, Philadelphia, after flying blind all night, was forced down 175 miles east southeast of Boston at 7:30 a.m. and was rescued by the crew of the trawler Villanova... After floating eight minutes, plane sank just as lifeboats pulled alongside. Flier Eshelman refused to divulge destination. 'My destination was Mars, but I reached the salty brine first.'

While another ship, the Triton, dragged the ocean floor for the plane's wreckage, Cheston explained that the rented plane's main fuel line broke. Its engine sputtered, and the plane pancaked onto the water just a hundred feet from the Villanova. "I did not reach Mars," he stated, "but I can fully appreciate being alive in this world."

News of Cheston's attempt to fly to Mars made newspapers all over the country, but few reporters realized that the young pilot was being intentionally specious. As it turned out, the pilot with just four hours of solo flying experience had secretly attempted a trans-Atlantic flight. However, two other pilots-- Charles Backman of Sweden and Thomas Smith of West Virginia-- had disappeared without a trace while trying to cross the Atlantic in a high-wing monoplane just days earlier. If Cheston had revealed his true intentions to Edward Walz, there was a zero percent chance that Walz would've rented him the aircraft. 

Audacious? Of course. Reckless? Indeed. Extremely dangerous and highly illegal? Most certainly. But Cheston's parents weren't surprised. That's just the way Cheston's brain was wired. His mother explained to reporters that, even as a preternaturally curious youngster, Cheston had an obsession with adventure, excitement and discovery. The Eshelmans knew it was only a matter of time before Cheston pulled a stunt like this.

Cheston Arrested

On June 7, the Villanova chugged into Boston Harbor, carrying 90,000 pounds of fish, sixteen crewmen, and one exhausted, dehydrated rookie pilot who was in a heap of trouble. Cheston was arrested by harbor police before the fish trawler even dropped anchor. He was charged with theft of an airplane and put aboard a police boat. After being fingerprinted, he was placed in a holding cell at police headquarters to await the arrival of Camden law enforcement officials.

"I think I'll give in and go back and face the music," the young man explained to Boston Police Inspector Paul Crowler. "Will I go to jail if I do?"

"You're in jail right now!" the exasperated police inspector replied. 

Fortunately for Cheston, Edward Walz had no desire to see the ambitious youth in prison. Walz stated that all he wanted was to be reimbursed for the cost of the Luscombe and its electronic equipment-- a total of $2,600. Cheston's father promised that he would do everything possible to raise the money, which would be the equivalent of nearly $61,000 in today's currency. This seemed to have contributed to the divorce of the Eshelmans which soon followed. Nonetheless, Judge Clifford A. Aldwin sentenced Cheston to six months in jail for larceny.

It's unclear how much time, if any, Cheston spend behind bars, but he was welcomed back to the Martin aircraft plant with open arms, where he soon began deluging management with ideas for aircraft innovations. And in his spare time, he worked on patenting his own inventions-- none of which would prove to be revolutionary, but all of which proved to be just as eccentric and whimsical as the Pennsylvania native himself.

 

Tale of the Flying Flounder

In 1941, Cheston, now 24, announced that he had invented an entirely new type of aircraft. In a letter to President Roosevelt, he described his aircraft as being "revolutionary in design to the extent that it will cause all existing aircraft in the world to be become prehistoric obsolete". Shaped like a flattened teardrop, Cheston referred to the design as a "wingless tail." Cheston perfected the design by testing small models in a homemade wind tunnel.

The prototype, which he built with help from his younger brother, Melvin, was constructed out of steam-molded plywood, measured 22 feet in length and 12 feed in width, and was outfitted with a 50-hp Continental motor, which was commonly used in small sport aircraft of the era. It was built in the garage of the home shared by the two brothers on Holly Neck Road near Wildwood.

"This model will take off at twenty-five miles per hour," promised the inventor. "Planes of today's standard design with similar wing area take off at forty-five. And, besides, it's absolutely spin-proof." Cheston admitted that he would have to find a test pilot; his own pilot's license had been taken away after his arrest.

In his letter to the president, Cheston named his prototype The Spirit of National Defense, and promised that, with government funding, he could produce one hundred teardrop-shaped plywood bombers per week. Photographs of the curious aircraft appeared in newspapers across the country, leading some critics to refer to the unique flattened design as the "Flying Flounder".

Despite the aircraft's radical shape and its inventor's lack of experience, the Civil Aeronautics Administration approved The Spirit of National Defense for a test flight. On January 4, 1942, Cheston and his mechanic, Paul Dahms, along with British Airways pilot George Cowell, tested the plane at Baltimore's Municipal Airport. It ascended only a few feet before making a rough landing, causing the landing gear to buckle. The flightless flounder skidded along on its belly and friction ignited the fuel talk, causing the plane to go up in flames.

 

The Winglet Fiasco

Undeterred, Cheston refined his design. The plywood was replaced by plastic. His new aircraft, the FW-5, which he dubbed the "Flying Carpet", made not one, but 62 successful test flights, capturing the interest of investors as well as the U.S. military. Though the wingless tail design never caught on, his next project-- a "flying wing" design-- was awarded a U.S. patent in 1944. His new design, which was essentially the polar opposite of The Spirit of National Defense; instead of a completely wingless airplane, his new design was nothing but wing. Several prototypes were made, each one a little less radical than the original, until he had something he believed he could manufacture and sell to the public. This consumer-oriented aircraft, the Eshelman Winglet, was a small, light airplane with a cruising speed of 120 miles per hour. 

Eshelman's patented "Flying Wing".

 

By 1946, the Cheston L. Eshelman Company, now headquartered in Baltimore, had received over two thousand orders for the Winglet-- orders valued at around $3 million-- though not a single aircraft had been built. As a matter of fact, the first Winglet had yet to be flown. As it became doubtful that Cheston had the ability to fulfill these orders, investors who had purchased Eshelman stock at $25 a share just two years earlier, began to lose faith and started selling off their shares. By 1947, the stock's value had fallen to just $10 per share. Ultimately, the Winglet never went into mass production.

A 1943 call for investors

 
Back on Solid Ground

While such a setback would've ruined lesser entrepreneurs, Cheston went back to his roots. He needed something that he could mass produce and sell to the public, and so he turned his attention to tractors, mowers and boats. In the late 1940s, the company's best seller was the Kulti-Mower, a three-wheeled tractor with a four-cycle air-cooled engine which retailed for $149.50 (approximately $2040.00 in today's currency). With attachments for mowing, plowing, spraying, hauling and harrowing, the Kulti-Mower proved an invaluable tool for landscapers and gardeners. Not only was it small and sturdy, but it was easy to operate and safe enough for children over 8 years of age, or so it was advertised. By the end of 1950, the Cheston L. Eshelman Company was on solid enough financial footing to pay dividends to stockholders.

The Kulti-Mower was Eshelman's top selling invention

 

During the 1950s, suburbs boomed as a result of government housing policies addressing the housing shortage caused by millions of soldiers returning from the war. Thanks in part to the G.I. Bill, which provided WW2 veterans with low-interest, government-backed mortgages, families moved away from the city and into affordable, mass-produced single-family "cookie-cutter" homes. Increased automobile ownership made longer commutes possible, allowing working class individuals to move further away from urban centers. With the passage of Federal-Aid Highway Act of 1956 came the largest public works project in American history up to that time-- the Interstate Highway System-- which expanded suburbia even further.

Cheston Eshelman was an astute interpreter of the American Dream. While he never lost his zeal for aviation, he knew there was a fortune to be made in supplying the growing middle class with goods to power their leisure activities. Just like the wily hardware salesmen of the Gold Rush era who made their fortunes selling shovels and picks to prospectors, Eshelman outfitted suburbanites with golf carts, motor scooters, boat trailers and outboard motors. And then, years before the first mile of Interstate highway was constructed, his mind turned to automobiles, and in 1953 he would create a machine that would become indelibly linked to the Eshelman name-- a gasoline powered sports car for children.

A 1953 ad for the Eshelman Child's Car

 

King of the Mini Car

Powered by a 2-hp Briggs & Stratton single-cylinder engine, the diminutive Eshelman Child's Car was designed to carry two children at speeds up to fifteen miles per hour. Weighing in at 225 pounds, the 54-inch-long Child's Car featured puncture-proof ten-inch tires, ball bearing wheels, electric lights and fully-automatic clutch. The Eshelman Child's Car boasted up to 70 miles per gallon and it retailed for $295.00, which was no small sum in 1953. 

Eshelman also produced 3-hp and 6-hp models for grown-ups. Ten inches longer than the children's version and more than 150 pounds heavier, the street-legal 6-hp adult version was capable of speeds up to 30 miles per hour and, unlike the Child's Car, had the ability to drive in reverse. The buyer also had no shortage of options, ranging from full-sized headlights to a 19-inch grass-cutting attachment, making it perhaps the first, if not only, street-legal automobile that could also mow a lawn.

Not since Cheston's ill-fated trans-Atlantic flight had the Eshelman name enjoyed such popularity. The tiny sports car was featured in Parade Magazine, and ads appeared in the back pages of magazines like Popular Mechanics, while the Cheston L. Eshelman Company got miles of free publicity by supplying various businesses with Eshelmans to award as prizes. From Brill's Bakery of Lancaster, Ohio, to the Evansville Courier & Press of Indiana, a genuine Eshelman mini-car was a top prize sought out not just by children, but adults as well. Free test drives could be had just about anywhere, from toy stores and farm supply stores to automobile dealerships. In November of 1954, New York congressman Francis Dorn cruised to an easy victory after a campaign publicity stunt which involved an Eshelman being driven through Brooklyn, pulling a trailer with a sign reading: Re-elect Your Congressman, Francis E. Dorn. He's a Dorn Good Congressman! The following year, Vice President Richard Nixon was photographed next to an Eshelman Child's Car for a March of Dimes publicity campaign. 

An Eshelman Child's Car at Brill's Bakery

 

On February 10, 1956,  Cheston's company suffered a catastrophic setback when a fire partially destroyed the six-story Eshelman factory on Light Street in Baltimore. It took 200 firefighters, 40 firetrucks and two fireboats over three hours to get the blaze under control; when the smoke cleared, the entire upper floor (where the company's paint shop was located) was destroyed, resulting in $500,000 in damage.

Cheston was at home, watching television, when the fire broke out. He raced to the scene, joining thousands of other onlookers. Traffic was snarled for miles, while teenagers in formal attire, evacuated from an adjacent hotel were the Eastern High School prom was taking place, jumped over fire hoses and played in the puddles. Despite the hardship caused by the massive fire, Cheston vowed to press on, but, from that point forward, he focused primarily on building small cars.

Burning of the Eshelman factory

 
Cheston Goes Postal

After the fire, manufacturing resumed in Crisfield, Maryland-- a small bayside town more than 150 miles away from Baltimore. Cheston reached a ten year agreement with the plant's owner, Charles D. Briddell, to have Eshelman products manufactured and assembled at the Briddell company's cutlery factory. While this move meant job losses for dozens of Eshelman employees, it was a necessary decision. The City of Baltimore had recently made the decision to tax business inventory and equipment, and this tax increase would've forced the Cheston L. Eshelman Company to raise prices, thereby jeopardizing the company's competitive advantage within the golf cart and garden tractor industry. Corporate headquarters remained in Baltimore, however.

In 1957, Cheston's car company, newly-reorganized as the Eshelman Motors Corporation (a subsidiary of the Cheston L. Eshelman Company), debuted the Sportabout, a 72-inch-long automobile with a fiberglass body and seating for up to three adults. The Sportabout, which retailed for around $800, came equipped with sealed-beam headlights, turn signals, brake lights, drum brakes, an aluminum hardtop and a Plexiglas windshield with motorized wiper. 

The following year, Cheston beat out fifteen competitors to secure a $2,644,000 government contract to produce 3,400 "Eshelman Post Office Three-Wheel Vehicles".  These covered motor scooters, designed to deliver mail while protecting carriers from the elements, were manufactured at the Crisfield plant. While this government contract for these Mailsters suffused the Eshelman Motors Corporation with plenty of cash, Cheston was less-than-thrilled with the scooter's bland, ungainly design. Unfortunately for the 42-year-old self-taught mechanical designer, the government had very precise specifications which left little room for individuality. As a result, each bidder's prototype appeared indistinguishable from the next one. The mail scooter, which came to be known as the Mailster, was eventually produced by a few other manufacturers as well.

But Cheston was patiently biding his time. He had already committed himself to his next project-- a roadworthy 121-inch, two cylinder sports coupe that would get fifty miles to the gallon and function as an affordable "second car" for every American family with a garage or driveway. This car came to be known as the Eshelman 903.

 

Smallest Big Car or Biggest Small Car?

The 903 prototype was already being tested around Baltimore when Eshelman was awarded the lucrative Postal Service contract. The "Baltimore prototype" (which was actually built in Waldolf, Maryland) had a one-piece red plastic body, with an aluminum front end made in Pennsylvania from a single casting. There was no hood; to change the oil, one simply had to remove the clip-on grille.

Cheston designed the 903 with convenience, affordability, economy and ease of maintenance in mind, using only standard parts readily found throughout the country. The prototype weighed just 900 pounds, and could theoretically be lifted by its three passengers in order to fit into tight parking spaces. Cheston told the Baltimore Evening Sun that he would hire 3,000 workers who could turn out "ten thousand units a year, at a conservative guess," and that this would turn Baltimore into the Tiny Car Capital of the World. 

Eshelman, an avid fisherman, showing off a 54 lb. sailfish he caught in 1956.

 

With a planned retail price of $1000 (cost overruns eventually raised the price to $1500), the inventor claimed that the Eshelman 903 would be cheapest mass-produced vehicle capable of passing state inspection. He even teased two other fiberglass-bodied models-- the 902 delivery truck and the 904 pickup truck. But, as was so often the case, Cheston was about two decades ahead of his time. Americans weren't overly concerned with fuel economy, and the postwar economic boom had consumers clamoring for things that were bigger, better and faster. Ultimately, only twelve Eshelman 903s were built.

 
Birth of the Golden Eagle

The 1960s brought major changes to the Eshelman Motors Corporation. Cheston's younger brother, Melvin, who had been at his brother's side from the days of the "Flying Flounder", left the company to accept a position as Baltimore Field Agent for the New York Life Insurance Company. Cheston, meanwhile, had moved to Miami Springs, Florida, with his wife and daughter.

In 1965 a book by consumer advocate Ralph Nader, entitled Unsafe at Any Speed: The Designed-In Dangers of the American Automobile, sent shockwaves throughout the nation, drawing attention to Detroit's willful ignorance when it came to implementing safety features in American automobiles. Nader's book, which soon became a bestseller, spurred the creation of the U.S. Department of Transportation and the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, and painted a particularly grim picture of a popular sports car of the era, the Chevy Corvair. In his book, Nader claimed that the Corvair was a veritable death trap, hampered by poor steering and prone to deadly rollovers.

Although a 1972 NHTSA report later disproved Nader's claims, the damage to the Corvair name had already been done; Chevrolet discontinued the model three years before the NHTSA's exoneration. But at the height of the book's popularity, the issue of automobile safety became a new crusade for Cheston Lee Eshelman. More specifically, he was determined to find a way to make the still-popular Corvair safer. The end result was the Eshelman Golden Eagle Safety Car.

Eshelman Golden Eagle (photo credit Louis Rugani)

 

 In the spring of 1967 Cheston began buying factory Corvairs and retrofitting them with safety features he had designed. While Nader's book had probably planted the safety seed in Cheston's mind, there was another reason why the now-middle-aged entrepreneur was thinking about mortality; on February 8, 1967, while returning to his Baltimore office after lunch, Melvin Eshelman collapsed on the sidewalk, the victim of a fatal heart attack at just 47 years of age.

Each Eshelman Golden Eagle was fitted with a patented crash-absorbing front bumper utilizing the car's own spare tire, which Cheston demonstrated to prospective franchisees by driving his own personal car into concrete walls. The Golden Eagle also featured custom emblems and nameplates. Only about 125 Golden Eagles were sold before General Motors caught wind of Cheston's scheme and ordered him to cease and desist. He was permitted to sell Corvair modification kits, however, and when Chevrolet killed off the model in 1969 he turned his attention to the Chevy Impala.

Between 1967 and 1979, Cheston wrote a barrage of letters to both elected and unelected officials calling for the implementation of his "30-mph Shock Absorber" bumper, which now held six patents. These letters were mailed to 91 U.S. senators, 161 representatives, 73 governors and ex-governors, 66 White House aides and 26 federal agencies. In his letters, Cheston offered to personally crash test a Golden Eagle Safety Car against any car of the government's choosing. There were no takers.

Eshelman preparing to smash his car into a concrete wall

 

 Perseverance Til the End

Though many observers were impressed by his personal demonstrations, Cheston's bumper design never caught on. One reporter theorized that it may have been because the rubber protrusion mounted to the front of the vehicle made it appear as if the car was sticking out its tongue. Another Florida reporter, Jack Roberts, had been impressed by the bumper's performance, but added: There was one big problem. The car was ugly as could be, and Americans are consumed with pride in the looks of their cars.

Cheston would continue to design and tinker with new inventions for the remainder of his life, however. In 1978 he designed (but never built) and received a patent for an electric version of the Golden Eagle, which would've had a sliding canopy instead of doors and a curb weight of just 1,088 pounds. He followed that up with a new bumper design, which was essentially a high-density rubber block affixed to coil springs. This invention also earned a patent. 

"Today's new cars come with a bumper which is supposed to absorb a 5 m.p.h. crash," explained the 63-year-old Eshelman. "Our bumper would double the saving in a head-on crash, but the automakers are interested in selling high-cost replacement parts such as bumpers and radiators." His final patent was awarded in 1981 and this, too, was for a bumper.

 
Eshelman's Legacy

Cheston Lee Eshelman passed away peacefully at his home in Hialeah, at the age of 78, on November 11, 2004. Though his passing scarcely warranted a comment in Florida, Maryland or Pennsylvania newspapers, his name lives on thanks to the mini cars he invented, which, today, are highly sought after by toy collectors and car collectors alike. Cheston may not have had as much impact on the world as Edison or Bell, but he deserves to be remembered, if for no other reason than his fearlessness, his willingness to take chances, and his indomitable pioneering spirit. 

 
Sources:

Gettysburg Times, May 21, 1925.
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Hanover Evening Sun, June 6, 1939.
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Lancaster Intelligencer Journal, Jan. 5, 1942.
Lewistown Daily News, July 18, 1942.
Salisbury Times, Sept. 20, 1946.
Baltimore Sun, July 6, 1947.
Baltimore Sun, Nov. 18, 1950.
Brooklyn Eagle, Nov. 3, 1954.
Baltimore Sun, Feb. 11, 1956.
Salisbury Times, Feb. 21, 1957.
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Baltimore Evening Sun, June 13, 1958.
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