The first airplane in Alaska: The aerial attempts of a Nome music teacher nicknamed ‘the Professor’

Part of a continuing weekly series on Alaska history by local historian David Reamer. Have a question about Anchorage or Alaska history or an idea for a future article? Go to the form at the bottom of this story.

Last week, this column covered some “firsts” in Alaska history, including the first car, elephants, escalator and Alaskan woman to run for national office. As humans, we tend to remember and immortalize the first occasions of events and innovations. The first to reach a peak, the first to fly, the breakthroughs and pioneers and trendsetters — these are the gold of historical material. We recall their places in time, or at least we try to do so. In that vein, here is one of the humblest firsts in Alaska history, the first airplane.

After months of secrecy, news broke on March 23, 1911. Henry Peterson, a music teacher in early Nome, was building an airplane. Nicknamed “the Professor,” he was well-known in town. Most social events of note featured his performances, coaching, or arrangements. Yet, his sizable hobby of airplane construction had escaped public notice.

Locals were shocked and curious at the announcement, not just for the exciting idea of an airplane in Nome. While respected for his musical skills and general intelligence, Peterson possessed no notable mechanical skills and had no background in engineering, let alone any personal aviation experience, not that there was much opportunity for the latter in 1911. Even in distant Nome, there were likelier candidates to surprise the town with a self-built airplane. A handful of years later, famous musher Allan “Scotty” Allan built a snowmachine prototype of his own design there.

In fact, Peterson’s aviation engineering expertise derived entirely from his nighttime reading. Per the Nome Nugget, he owned “every recent book or paper ever issued on the subject of aerial navigation, and he has read and re-read those books until he almost knows them by heart.” The musician thought — hoped to be more accurate — that his experience with tuning and piano repair would translate to airplane construction.

On April 16, the airplane was revealed before an intimate, invitation-only crowd. Based on plans purchased from an Outside publication, the biplane measured 32 feet from wingtip to wingtip. Its frame was built from white spruce with wings wrapped in sheets of muslin cloth. Peterson christened it the Tingmayuk, from the Iñupiaq tiŋmiḷuk, meaning a small bird. Though the propeller failed to rotate, anticipation for the flying machine’s debut flight remained high. As the Nome Nugget declared, “In this inventive age things move more rapidly, and when an aspiration is had, the modern man with lots of patience, continued unremitting patience works over his idea until he succeeds in bringing it to such a state of perfection that others can take up the work and improve upon it.”

The first flight was initially set for May 6. Attendees were asked to pay a dollar, roughly $30 in 2024 money, meant to compensate Peterson for the airplane’s construction costs. Flying exhibitions typically cost more then, whether the cost was carried by the town or passed on to the audience. For example, aviator James Martin charged $2.50 a ticket two years later in Fairbanks. The Nome Nugget noted, “(Peterson) has, and will risk much, so the least we can do is try and help him to break even.”

The Nome Nugget editor dreamed of what a thriving aviation industry would mean for Nome, which was in steep decline years after its gold rush peak. The same page featured another article about the declining population: “Nomeites Flock to California Cities.” Doctors, lawyers, dentists, bankers, saloon operators, dancers, journalists, miners, and laborers of all kinds were abandoning Nome for warmer climes and more prosperous economies.

The editor wrote, “Have you ever stopped to consider what it would mean to Nome and Alaska if Henry Peterson, the local aviator, demonstrated to the public that his flying machine was practical.” An aviation industry in Alaska would mean a “new manner of transportation between the territory and the states” and “daily mail.” In addition, prospectors could work their claims deeper into the year, knowing that there were flights to carry them Outside once winter struck. He ended with the most important potential improvement. “Lastly, the women would rejoice. Why? Because they would be enabled to keep in touch with the latest fashions. Should a new hobble or harem skirt be invented they would secure one just as soon as would the ladies in the states.”

Mechanical issues pushed the flight attempt forward, day by day, until the fateful May 9. Everyone in the area was invited to attend the launch, whether they bought a ticket or not. That day, that May 9, about 1,200 people gathered outside Nome. The Professor started the Tingmayuk and opened the throttle. The engine roared as much as the little engine could. The supposed flying machine proceeded forward slowly. The combined 660 pounds — 500 for the plane and 160 for the man — slid across the snow on ski skids, then came to an equally slow stop a few feet from its starting position. After standing in the cold for about an hour, most of the crowd departed, leaving Peterson and his most steadfast admirers huddled around the frustrating machine.

The next day, gentle and less so jokes about Peterson were the hottest commodity going. The Nome Nugget came to his defense: “Mr. Henry Peterson deserves the thanks of the whole camp for his enterprise and courage.” As another notice in the newspaper declared, “Never mind. If Peterson can’t fly he can play the fiddle.” While his ambitions were admirable and his spirit enviable, memorizing magazine articles on airplanes did not an aviator create. Additional takeoff attempts with the Tingmayuk likewise failed. Fundraising attempts for a working aircraft from the Lower 48 fell short. The Professor never flew his own plane but perhaps was later a passenger, at least an observer of flight.

In a curious sidenote, the episode prompted one of the earliest fake photograph controversies in Alaska history. A Nome photographer took one of his negatives of the Tingmayuk and underdeveloped the section of the image showing the snowy ground. As a result, the sky and ground merged into a featureless expanse, making it appear as if the airplane was flying. The deliberate fake caused widespread rumors about a successful flight despite Peterson’s public embarrassment.

Thus, the first airplane in Alaska was a complete failure in execution, if not in dreams. Moreover, it was a humble beginning for aviation in Alaska. The first actual flight in Alaska took place two years later. On July 3, 1913, James Martin took off from Fairbanks’ Exposition Park in an open-cockpit Gage-Martin biplane with an eight-cylinder Hall-Scott motor. And the first flight in Anchorage was nine years after that. On May 24, 1922, 102 years ago today, Charles “Ham” Hammontree took off from Anchorage in his Boeing C-11S floatplane.

Key sources:

“Aviation Day May the 6th.” Nome Nugget, April 25, 1911, 4.

“H. Peterson Ready to Conquer the Air.” Nome Nugget, May 8, 1911, 4.

“‘If’ Peterson’s Machine Flies.” Nome Nugget, May 5, 1911, 4.

“The Looker-On.” Nome Nugget, April 25, 1911, 2.

“The Looker-On.” Nome Nugget, May 4, 1911, 2.

“Many See Air Craft Modeled by Peterson.” Nome Nugget, April 17, 1911, 3.

“Not to be Jeered.” Nome Nugget, May 10, 1911, 2.

“Peterson Ready for Test Flight.” Nome Nugget, May 9, 1911, 4.

“Peterson Unable to Defy Law of Gravity.” Nome Nugget, May 10, 1911, 3.

“Rumor Had ‘Pete’ Flying.” Nome Nugget, May 12, 1911, 4.

Stevens, Robert W. Alaska Aviation History, Volume One 1897-1928. Des Moines, WA: Polynyas Press, 1990.

“Will See Aviation Flight Without Cost.” Nome Nugget, March 23, 1911, 4.