Hellishcopter
May 1957 Popular Electronics

May 1957 Popular Electronics Table of Contents Wax nostalgic about and learn from the history of early electronics. See articles from Popular Electronics, published October 1954 - April 1985. All copyrights are hereby acknowledged.

Carl Kohler was way ahead of his time when he published this "Hellishcopter" article in a 1957 issue of Popular Electronics magazine. Back in the day, radio controlled helicopters were the privileged domain of genius electronics and mechanical engineers and/or craftsmen. There were no commercially available kits at all. Some free flight helicopters were on the scene using either rubber bands or model airplane engines for motivation. Radio systems used vacuum tubes for amplification, and servomechanisms were crude devices that were anything but linear in response to transmitter control inputs and were quite unreliable. The "proportional" systems used a bank of mechanical vibrating spring reeds at audio frequencies to "demodulate" control commands. Vibration and the metal-to-metal electromagnetic noise generated by meshing gears wreaked havoc on receivers that would never have had the selectivity necessary to reject unintended control inputs. The pushbutton R/C helicopter imagined by Mr. Kohler was pure fantasy in 1957. However, today's "smart" helicopters and computerized radio systems can actually perform the miracles conjured up in the story.

Hellishcopter

By Carl Kohler

When the anguished tones of the Elvis Presley recording suddenly faded from the speaker in my workshack, I knew company was coming - most likely with the usual pot of coffee and a consuming curiosity. Calmly, I made a few last adjustments on my latest electronic triumph and awaited the judgment committee of one.

It took her exactly three minutes and twenty seconds to turn off the record player in the music room, stop in the kitchen for the coffee, walk from the house to my workshack and knock on the door.

"Couldn't stand any more of that male Banshee's adenoidal wailing, eh?" I said, admitting the wife into my private sanctum of scientific puttering. "Why you bought those absurd recordings is completely beyond -"

"It happens," she said coldly, "I like his singing."

"If that's singing, let's go down to the dog pound and hear some group stuff some time," I snickered. "I've heard better tonality from Air Alert Sirens and I -"

"What in the world is that?" She pointed to my newly built project on the floor.

"Oh, that happens to be the little marvel which is only going to walk off with all the awards when my R/C Plane Club holds its Competitive Meet next week," I said casually. "When they see this baby -"

"First plane I ever saw without wings."

"It's a whirlybird type - you know, helicopter." I ran a fond hand over its smooth fuselage. "Whole thing only weighs twenty pounds, including the modified, aluminum-cast lawn-mower engine which powers it. It carries a quart tank of a special fuel, which I got from the kids who run the hotrod strip on the edge of town, and it can stay airborne for almost an hour, according to my calculations. "

"How do you steer it ?" she asked.

"With R/C control of these adjustable blades on the larger rotor." I smiled into my coffee. "My tone control system modifications - somewhat along the line of what would be conventional elevator-control - are something a notch below sheer genius! According to my schematics, this baby'll -"

"You keep saying 'according to your plans,' " she said skeptically. "That means you haven't actually flown this misbegotten gizmo yet." An expression of mingled worry and suspicion flooded her face. "How do you know it won't go berserk - like some of those other nutty R/C nightmares you turned loose ?"

"Impossible!" I chuckled. "I've checked this baby out so thoroughly - both electronically and mechanically - that only a windstorm could make it act erratically!"

"I envy you your confidence," she said.

"You'll see," I promised, picking up the rather large model and carrying it outdoors. "Why, even a mor - uh ... even you could fly this little gem! And to show you how sure I really am, I'll let you have the pleasure of piloting its test flight!"

Carefully placing the helicopter on the lawn, I set about starting the modified mower motor. A moment later, it exploded into action and I stepped out of the range of the three-foot-long rotor-blades which began slashing efficiently in a blurred orbit above the helicopter. I hurried over to the wife. She clutched the transmitter unit nervously, her eyes held to the helicopter with anxious fascination.

"It's running in neutral now," I told her. "Punch that button marked Up."

She did and the pint-sized whirlybird slowly, smoothly rose from the ground. Two feet ... five feet ... eight feet ... higher and higher it climbed, revolving in a circle as it ascended, the rotors screaming noisily. "Now, correct that revolving motion - punch the Forward button," I shouted. "It cants the blades sufficiently to tilt the helicopter into a forward position!"

She jabbed the button, desperately, and the little whirlybird began slowly flying across the yard.

"See!" I yelled. "It goes just like the real thing!"

"Here, you take it!" she screeched nervously, holding out the transmitter unit to me. "I - I don't w - want to r - run it a - any more! Take it!" Without warning, she all but threw the transmitter at me. I grabbed for it, missed, and the unit smashed to the ground. Frantically, I snatched it up.

It rattled ominously.

"Why did you do that ?" I yelped. "I think you've busted something!" Gently, I shook the unit again. It rattled all right.

"Look at the gizmo!" she screamed.

Above us, the helicopter suddenly shot upwards about thirty feet, tilted to the starboard and shot off across the rooftops. Twice, before it flew out of sight, I saw it drop to within three feet of the ground, whip around in crazy maneuvers, and then steadily climb back into the sky. Now its clatter was fading into the distance. We stared, horrified, as it zoomed behind a row of trees several back yards away.

"I knew it! I knew it!" wailed the wife. "I just knew it would happen! Every time you start fooling around with these darned R/C -"

"Who dropped the transmitter?" I snapped savagely. "Come on, we've got to chase that baby and try to figure a way to catch it before -"

Somebody - or something - screamed quite distinctly about half a block away. It was enough to curdle one's blood, that scream ... especially if one happened to be responsible for letting a helicopter with three-foot-long blades loose in the neighborhood. Breaking into a gallop, I wondered how many years I'd get and if the wife would wait for me.

Suddenly the whirlybird appeared - chopping furiously across an empty lot, about ten feet off the ground - and veered sharply to port. I tried to head it off, but it climbed - just as I leaped, hoping to grab a pontoon - and chattered past me. Before I landed on my aching back I caught one short glimpse of a large and scrawny tomcat clinging to a pontoon, his yellow eyes blazing with madness. I hoped he accounted for the unholy scream.

"It went into Mrs. Millar's place!" babbled the wife, helping me to my feet. "Did you see that cat riding -"

"Saw it!" I agreed, and sprinted at a dead limp into the Millar yard. Ahead, I could hear the rise and fall of the mower-engine, its pitch changing. It's too much to hope for power failure, I thought, as I raced through a small vegetable garden, vaulted a fence and continued through somebody's roses, ignoring my wounds. That baby's good for another forty minutes, and when I think of the damage she can do in forty minutes ...

I turned off the thought.

Again, suddenly, chillingly, somebody screamed with terror. I emerged into a back yard to see a matronly woman, her face blanched and twisted with fright, staring into the air. Twenty feet above her, flying in a wide circle and trailing a clothesline with several flapping items on it, was the errant helicopter - its motor snarling and coughing with almost vicious glee.

"Don't be alarmed, lady!" I gulped. "I'll try to -"

Just then she buried her head in her arms and mercifully passed out.

The whirlybird now widened its circle and I saw that it went by the limbs of a tall apple tree in the next yard with regularity. A desperate, unlikely idea popped into my mind. I streaked for the apple tree and began clambering up it. The helicopter passed twice before I made it to the limb which reached far out over the back yard.

"Think you can grab it as it comes by ?" yelled my wife, watching tensely below. "Here it comes ... "

Balancing precariously on the unsteady limb, I readied myself to make one grab, which had to be successful, as the helicopter chopped by me. It was slowly gaining altitude again, and if I missed it - the whole plan was shot. Then, the plane was within reach and I grabbed for it ... missed ... lurched recklessly forward ... grabbed again, getting the starboard pontoon and a faceful of frenzied cat ... was pulled completely off the limb - and went hurtling earthward.

The impact was horrendous, but I heard the blades snapping off and the motor dying before I sank into gathering darkness.

I came around to find myself sprawled in the wreckage, with a large and scrawny tomcat calmly cleaning his paw beside me and two people standing over me. As my head cleared, I recognized my wife and old Mr. Dixon, owner of the apple tree.

"Listen, young feller," said old Mr. Dixon softly, "You're kinda old for them kid stunts. After this, if you want an apple - just ask for it."

Neither of us uttered a word - taking the back-alley route home - until we were safely within my workshack again. Sadly, I regarded the shattered remains of what had been a stupendous project. Tenderly, I fingered the twisted, devastated chunks of helicopter.

The wife put an arm around my shoulder.

"Buck up, boy! Dismiss this whole thing from your unpredictable little mind and let's go downtown!" She smiled strangely.

"Downtown?" I murmured brokenly.

"Sure! We'll buy one of those tremendous R/C boat kits! The biggest and best one we can find!"

"A - After what I've done ?" I moved slightly away from her, wondering how my fall could affect her head. "You'll buy me an R/C boat kit despite all this ?"

"You bet!" she said, a determined look whipping over her face. "You're grounded, boy! From here on out, you're strictly water-borne! After all these hectic years, I know better than to try and cure you of these R/C spasms. But I can modify the results! Come on. I'll even buy you a yachting cap to go with it."

That was quite some time ago and I've got the five-foot model of a Navy PT Boat almost finished. The modified mower engine fits fine, and I'm really going to wow those characters down at the R/C Boat Club. I cut quite a figure in that yachting cap.

Call me Commodore.