The Man Called Brown Condor (14 page)

Haile Selassie appealed, as leader of a member nation, to the League of Nations, asking for them to send neutral observers to the area to arbitrate any border disputes or incidents. The League refused. France and England saw no reason to antagonize Fascist Italy bulging with Mussolini's arms, or, for that matter, Mussolini's good friend Adolf Hitler and his Fascist thugs in Germany who had come to power in 1933. After all, what interest did England and France have in an obscure African country?

Encouraged, Mussolini sent large numbers of troops and arms to Africa, stating in the world press that Italy had “a civilizing mission” in “backward Ethiopia.” He declared that he would avenge the atrocity committed by Ethiopia in 1896 against Italy at Adowa, never mind that Adowa, an Ethiopian town, had first been attacked by Italy.

In his appearance before the League of Nations in Geneva, Switzerland, Haile Selassie made an impassioned plea before its assembly. He asked for peace, saying he had withdrawn his troops from the disputed borders to prevent any further incidents. England, though sympathetic, refused to pledge support to Ethiopia in the event of war. France's response was cold. The Italian delegation arrogantly walked out of the assembly during Selassie's speech. The League of Nations did nothing.

The United States had refused to join the League of Nations following the end of the Great War. America was in the grip of the Depression and officially wanted nothing to do with another conflict abroad, although many Americans, especially black American citizens, formed societies to send aid to Ethiopia.

John Robinson was aware of Haile Selassie's struggle. Like many in the world, he viewed Selassie with admiration, but on the American side of the Atlantic, John's life seemed very much in order. His attention was focused upon the challenge he would eventually face heading up a new department of aviation at Tuskegee. Not only did he believe the school was needed, but he also knew that for the students to be accepted as pilots and aircraft mechanics, there needed to be an opportunity to prove beyond doubt that black students of aviation could excel in the field.

There had been a few news stories about another black pilot, but in John's opinion, the stories were not the kind that were needed. The subject was Hubert Julian who, in the mid-1920s had billed himself as the first black parachutist and first black licensed pilot, not in the United States but in Canada. Julian claimed to have been born in Trinidad, and he said he had learned to fly in Canada and was licensed there. John considered him more of a self-promoter of moneymaking scams than a serious aviator. Julian parachuted into Harlem as a publicity stunt. He promoted himself as the Black Eagle and collected funds, mostly from black citizens, for a proposed solo flight in a single-engine floatplane to Ethiopia. He had concocted similar scams before, taking the money and then finding an excuse not to carry out the project. For the Ethiopia flight, when few backers appeared, Julian appealed to the public through advertising and direct mail. Because of his previous actions, both the FBI and the United States Postal Service (USPS) had taken an interest in him. He was informed by an agent from the US government that he had better make the flight because there was a law against collecting funds through the mail with intent to defraud.

With much fanfare and publicity, Julian took off from the Harlem River on his great African flight. The flight ended five minutes after takeoff in a crash in Flushing Bay. Julian must have miscalculated his “forced river landing,” for he wound up in hospital where he was visited by a USPS inspector. Considering the seriousness of his injuries, the inspector decided the attempt might meet the criteria for collecting money via the mail and decided not to put Julian in jail.

John Robinson despised Julian for pulling such stunts. He knew Julian set the sort of examples that would hold back black aviation, make it a laughing stock. Nonetheless, by 1929 news of the attempt had somehow reached the then regent of Ethiopia, Ras Tafari, soon to be coronated emperor. He was interested in the idea of black pilots. At the time, Ethiopia had just three large transport planes, two German-made single-engine Junkers W33c monoplanes, a Fokker VII3/b tri-motor, several single-engine types including a handful of French Potez biplanes, and a few other single-engine planes such as a Farman F-192, a Breda BA 15, and Breguet XIX. Most of Ethiopia's pilots were white Frenchmen. Ras Tafari wanted to prove to his people that black men could indeed learn to fly, an idea that was not encouraged by his French pilots.

Julian, the self-proclaimed Black Eagle, happily accepted an invitation to travel to Ethiopia to demonstrate his flying ability. He was promised all expenses and a salary of a thousand dollars a month, a huge amount at the time. Upon his arrival he was given rank, a uniform, living quarters, and much attention. He did demonstrate, to the emperor's pleasure, and to the consternation of the French pilots, that a black man could fly. But then Julian overdid things a bit.

Selfridges department store in London, which received the majority of Ethiopia's royal mail-order trade, presented, as a gift to the emperor-to-be, a new, white, sporty little two-place de Havilland Gypsy Moth biplane. It became a much-prized possession, even more so than his royal automobile, a Rolls Royce touring car painted deep maroon. Ras Tafari had a hangar built to shelter the little plane and keep it from public view. He gave orders that no one was to fly his Gypsy Moth until his coronation as emperor, at which time it would be unveiled and flown with himself as passenger before the coronation crowd.

Part of the celebration was held at the racetrack, which at the time doubled as a landing field. Julian gave a special public aerial demonstration for Ras Tafari featuring aerobatics in an old Potez 15 biplane and a parachute jump. Tafari was very pleased by the show. He awarded a medal to Julian, gave him a raise in pay, granted him the rank of colonel, and offered him Ethiopian citizenship. Julian, immensely pleased with himself, thanked the emperor-to-be and walked away from the viewing stand. Shortly afterward, a member of the royal staff, somewhat astonished, directed the regent's attention toward the landing field. Tafari, to his surprise and shock, saw his white de Havilland biplane accelerating across the grass to lift into the air just in front of the royal tent. Julian had been asking to fly the little plane since he first laid eyes on it. Now, full of the accolades he'd received from Tafari, the cheers from the crowd echoing in his ears, Julian had taken it upon himself to try out the plane, even though he was perfectly aware that it was not to fly until the coronation. Perhaps he thought Tafari would be pleased to see what his Gypsy Moth was capable of doing in the air.

The future emperor was not in the least pleased. No one had ever disobeyed his direct orders. What's more, the unveiling of the little plane and his courageous flight was to be the highlight of his coronation celebration. Now that surprise for his subjects was ruined.

Things got even worse. Julian, who had never flown a Gypsy Moth, came over the field and performed several steep turns at low altitude. With Tafari looking on in anger, Julian attempted a maneuver that ended in the branches of a eucalyptus tree, destroying the regent's favorite mechanical possession before he had a chance to fly in it.

On the emperor's direct order, Hubert Fauntleroy Julian was immediately banished. He was put on the next train to Djibouti. Some said he was lucky not to have been fed to the pair of royal lions, which were always kept chained to either side of the entrance to the royal palace.

Arriving by ship back in the United States, Julian found himself once again ridiculed for his antics. The news media carried stories reminding the public of Julian's failed attempt to fly to Africa and with gleeful sarcasm announced, “American Negro Pilot Lands in Eucalyptus Tree.”

John Robinson was convinced that Julian was undoing everything that he, Coffey, his classes at Curtiss-Wright, and the Air Challenger Pilots Association were doing to promote black aviation.

All that happened in 1930, the year Ras Tafari became Emperor Haile Selassie. In 1934 Robinson continued working with Coffey at their flying school while Tuskegee sought funding for a school of aviation. John's quiet manner and his demonstrated abilities and steady progress in the field of aviation stirred the interest of the local press. He found himself giving interviews and receiving invitations to speak before leaders of business and education.

It was at one such meeting sponsored by the Associated Negro Press (ANP) that John stated that he knew firsthand that airlines refused to hire black pilots qualified with commercial and transport ratings. He voiced, for the first time publicly, that what might most suitably support black Americans entering the field of aviation would be the opportunity to prove, beyond doubt, a black aviator's professional ability. He said that such an opportunity had so far been unavailable, but that he would gladly accept such a challenge.

Claude Barnett, founder of the ANP, was present. As fate would have it, Barnett had a rather special friend, Dr. Halaku Bayen, nephew of Emperor Haile Selassie. Halaku was in the United States at the time. Following Robinson's speech, Barnett traveled to Washington, DC, for a conference with the Ethiopian prince to tell him about John Robinson's talk. Consequently, Bayen traveled to Chicago to meet with Robinson.

At the meeting, Bayen said that perhaps he could provide what Robinson stated he desired: “an opportunity to prove beyond doubt black aviators' professional ability.” Bayen told John that his country, Ethiopia, in spite of the emperor's appeal to the League of Nations, was facing an invasion by Fascist Italy and that Ethiopia desperately needed pilots. He asked, “Mr. Robinson, would you consider serving in the Imperial Ethiopian Air Corps?” Robinson accepted without reservation, saying it would be a chance to prove that black American pilots were fit for any challenge in aviation.

Bayen had not made the offer without first confirming Robinson's professional flying qualifications. He then had to determine if Robinson was sincere in his offer to serve in Ethiopia. Satisfied, Bayen forwarded a report of his findings to Addis Ababa.

In spite of Ethiopia's urgent need for skilled technical personnel, the emperor, remembering the embarrassment and loss of his prized de Havilland Gypsy Moth caused by Julian, received the report about another black American pilot with serious reservations. But he and his staff made a careful review of Robinson's aviation records and references and found them impeccable. John received a cable from Selassie inviting him to Ethiopia, offering a generous salary and all transportation and living expenses. It was not an invitation to be taken lightly. John's parents, sister, and many friends pleaded with him not to go. They did not match his conviction that going halfway round the world to risk his life in an African country headed for war would advance the opportunities for black Americans. They argued that he could do more by teaching aviation at Tuskegee. John reminded them Tuskegee still did not have the funds to establish a school of aviation, that the endeavor may take years.

In the end, John Robinson chose to accept the offer. He would go, he said, because it provided the best opportunity to prove by example that black pilots were capable of performing professionally. It was a heavy burden, one he was determined to carry.

John turned the aviation school over to Coffey, tidied up his affairs, packed, and said goodbye to his family and friends.

D
R. BAYEN MADE ALL THE ARRANGEMENTS FOR
R
OBINSON'S TRIP
, helping him secure a passport and visa. The passport had presented a challenge. Robinson certainly could not say the reason for the trip was to become a member of the Imperial Ethiopian Air Force. It was and is against US law for an American citizen to serve in the armed forces of another country, particularly one at war, which worried Robinson. He did not want to lose his citizenship. On his application, John had to fib a little. He stated the reason for his travel to Ethiopia was business. He claimed he was going abroad to sell unarmed, civilian aircraft to the Ethiopian government, aircraft manufactured by a new, small company named Beechcraft (which would turn out not to be a complete lie).

As for war, John still hoped that the League of Nations would somehow prevent it. After all, wasn't that the main purpose for which it had been established after the Great War—the war to end all wars?

The United States, which had refused to join the League of Nations, decided to remain neutral and follow the initiative of the League to put an embargo on the sale of military arms to either Italy or Ethiopia. This diplomatic gesture of neutrality by the League of Nations and the United States hurt only Ethiopia; Italy had the ability to manufacture all the guns, bombs, ammunition, artillery, planes, and tanks it needed, whereas Ethiopia had no means whatsoever to manufacture modern weapons.

Bayen met John in New York and assured him that all the tasks that needed to be accomplished before he could go had been completed, right down to the delivery of his steamer trunk to his cabin. Bayen provided Robinson with a first-class ticket for the Atlantic crossing and beyond, checked his papers a final time, handed him an envelope containing cash for expenses, and accompanied him to Pier 57 in New York, used by both Grace Lines and French Lines. The French liner's officer receiving passengers aboard seemed a little taken aback; he checked John's papers twice to be sure the black man was indeed booked first class on the luxury liner outward bound for Marseille via the Strait of Gibraltar.

On that late afternoon in May 1935, passengers lining the rail of the French ship watched the skyline of New York slowly descend toward the western horizon. Among them, standing alone, was a slim, brown-skinned young man.

The chilled evening breeze smelled of the sea, taking Robinson back to his childhood in Gulfport on the Mississippi shore of the Gulf of Mexico. He thought of his mother's seafood gumbo, flying kites, and fishing with his father. How far away those days now seemed. When his mother learned her only son was headed halfway round the world to an African country threatened by war, she had cried and begged him not to go. He had asked himself a dozen times, was he choosing or being chosen? Had he deliberately set a course, or was he being swept along by Fate's troubled times and tides?