Freaks That Flew: Aviation’s Strangest Designs of the Early 1920s

Imagine a time when flight was more art than science—an era of bold experiments and eccentric contraptions that defied logic and gravity alike. In those early days of aviation, when inventors and daredevils competed to conquer the skies, the world witnessed creations that were equal parts brilliance and madness. These so-called “freaks that flew” were a fascinating chapter in the evolution of aircraft, embodying humanity’s relentless ambition to master the heavens. In this video, I’ll take you on a journey through the annals of aviation history, exploring the peculiar designs, daring innovations, and remarkable stories of the unconventional machines that paved the way for modern flight. Buckle up for a tale of ingenuity, courage, and the occasional misstep—welcome to “Freaks That Flew.”

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“Freaks That Flew,” by Bertram W. Williams, published in Popular Aviation and Aeronautics, May, 1929.

Although aviation was well advanced from a military point of view all over Europe prior to 1914, the various governments were careful not to encourage standardization among individual aircraft constructors. In the maze of designs submitted and new types constantly being produced they strove valiantly to pick out something that would really come in useful for that delightful European Game—war. 

Perhaps it will be news to some people that aeroplanes were employed in military operations in the Balkan-Turkish flare-up of 1912. They were. Bleriot monoplanes did some useful scouting over the Turkish lines on more than one occasion, sufficient at least to prove that these flimsy things of stick and string could be very annoying to an enemy—especially if that enemy had none of his own. 

Military leaders the world over and ever since the first caveman hurled a rock at his neighbor, have always been distinguished by a lack of imagination. It is doubtful if any of the European war lords expected heavier-than-air machines would serve otherwise than as an aid to reconnaissance work and duties formerly detailed to light cavalry. The idea that an enemy might actually show his objection other than by ground fire to aircraft flying over his private and exclusive territory never entered the heads of even the Potsdam bigwigs. 

There was much loose talk of bomb-dropping, long distance raids, and so forth, but it was more the bombast of the man in the street than the belief of the gray—beards who held the  leashes of the war dogs. Yet none of these gentry, military, naval, or civil, were overlooking any bets. When it comes to war or preparing for it, “Hang the expense,” that’s the motto—in Europe at least. 

Naturally, the best way of encouraging an inventor is to offer him a worthwhile prize to produce something that will measure up to required specifications. By the end of 1912 there were almost more types of planes being turned out in France, England, Germany, and Holland than there are in those countries today with America thrown in. And they were not all freaks by a long shot. A plane that failed to get off the ground received the loud, “ha ha,” then as much as it would now. 

The great mass of citizenry in the countries mentioned were, if not exactly “air-minded,” keenly interested in aviation. Also the governments of Great Britain and Germany were becoming a little jealous of France’s dominancy in this new science. Both in planes and aero engines she was leading. 

It is no exaggeration to state that the Gnome rotary engine was the greatest boost to aviation since the Kittyhawk flight, though of course the beginnings of man-made wings date before either. 

Just as the boy who passes all examinations at school or college, often turns out a failure in after life, so the flying machines that answer every requirement of an exacting government do not always show up so successfully as expected. £10,000, I believe, was the sum offered by the War Office at London to the manufacturer of a plane that could fly at a certain speed, climb to a given height, and perform a few mild stunts. And let me tell you, friends, ten thousand quid was quite a piece of change in those days. 

Curiously enough, the winner was an American, Samuel F. Cody. Cody, though a civilian, had been connected with the British army for several years prior to 1912, chiefly by his experiments with man-lifting kites, the forerunner of the observation balloon. I saw the prize-taking machine at the Aero Show in London in 1913. It was a weird contrivance, looking as if it had been built out of discarded fishing rods. 

All the struts and longerons were of bamboo with no attempt at fairing. The pilot sat on an open platform in much the same exposed position as that of the early Wright and Farman “box-kites.” Accommodation for the two passengers was on either side of the pilot in the form of iron seats, exact replicas of those to be found on horsedrawn plows and other agricultural implements. Indeed, the whole structure resembled a reaper and binder. 

A very short time after the machine had been accepted by the government, Cody was killed on it whilst flying with a passenger in a test flight. After that, John Bull was content to rest on his oars a while as far as British-made aircraft was concerned and to buy most of his equipment from La Belle France. 

Mr. A. V. Roe, the well-known designer of Manchester, was the first to introduce the biplane type with a fuselage body instead of the nacelle and long outriggers. Its advent reduced the number of freak planes and construction followed more or less on standardized lines. Immediately after the appearance of the improved rotary engine Le Rhone, France, began to experiment with small speedy monoplanes which, while beautifully made, took considerable skill to handle. 

The Germans, now thoroughly aroused, were convinced at last that the heavier-than-air machine had come to stay and was likely to prove a serious rival to the expensive and unwieldy dirigibles they had been building. Most of their earlier types were extremely clumsy ships powered by enormously heavy engines. 

Dr. Etrich, an Austrian, invented the Taube (dove) monoplane, so called from the curious and unconventional shape of its wings, which were tapered and held in place by a maze of wires running to cabanes above and below the fuselage. The remarkable feature of this type was that the tips of both wings were turned up at a negative angle of incidence, the idea being that in case of a sideslip the reversed area would offer sufficient resistance to the air to allow the machine to right itself. The disadvantage was that these upturned tips were an enormous drag when the monoplane was flying level. 

The Germans discarded the Taubes very shortly after the war started. About 1915 they enlisted the services of a gentleman named Anthony Fokker who taught them quite a lot about efficient aeroplane construction. 

But designers all over the world were not satisfied. They were forever experimenting with new wing shapes, arrangement of planes and elevators, though strangely enough little attention was devoted to the actual aerofoil surfaces even after the discovery by M. Bleriot in 1913 that two-thirds of the lifting power of a heavier-than-air machine was derived from the upper side of its planes. A great deal of time and labor—designers didn’t have much money in those days—was spent in searching for the ultimate in wing-tips. The purely square was, of course, the most economical to build. But the elliptical was proven to be far more efficient than any other shape. Round and diagonal were also tried out. The Germans and Austrians gave some attention to “swept back” wings; but the Pfeil or arrow plane had little to recommend it. 

In 1914 certain manufacturers came out with inherent stability ships, a quality gained by placing one or both planes at a dihedral angle to the path of flight. Such machines were not popular with skilled pilots, who claimed they were difficult to handle under certain contingencies. 

Of the legion of freaks continually cropping up at the various aerodromes, the queerest was the Canard from the workshops of M. Bleriot. This extraordinary apparatus was a monoplane with the tail and control surfaces in front. But it flew. The writer has seen it skimming a few feet over the ground with a very young and very scared pilot in charge. 

Another unconventional machine that caused considerable excitement in the British newspapers was the one invented by Mr. Dunne in 1913. He had produced something that represented an entirely new theory in aircraft construction. It was an arrow-shaped biplane without any fuselage. Nor were there the usual elevators, stabilizer, or rudder fastened to outriggers. 

Horizontal and vertical control was effected entirely by working the ailerons, and its designer claimed it was so efficient and steady in the air that it could be flown “hands off.” He gave several demonstrations and convinced the lay press at least that at last the much sought for foolproof machine had been discovered. 

Contrary to general belief, the Great War did not stimulate aviation to any marked extent. It was no time for any experimentation. Aircraft factories all over the world were rushed with orders, and though of course the performance of machines improved considerably during the four years of hostilities, it was due more to the competition among manufacturers of aero engines than any radical change of design in the aircraft. There were refinements of streamlining and fewer exposed parts to offer parasite resistance; but little else. 

At the end of 1918, the aeroplane was a speedy, fast climbing, but exceedingly dangerous and uncertain means of transport. What little interest that had been aroused in this country by the exploits of the “war birds” in Europe quickly died down. The average American wanted something that was useful in peace time. He refused even to be stirred by the two successful flights across the Atlantic and the earlier gallant attempt of Hawker—all in 1919. 

The policy of the government may have had something to do with this apathy. At the end of the war, Uncle Sam found himself with an enormous quantity of DH.4 biplanes on hand—a clumsy two-seater that required a four hundred horsepower engine to lift it off the ground. And the latter was also on hand in the shape of the much boosted Liberty, a motor of some merit but short working life. Both plane and engine were obsolete years before they were out of use; yet in consequence of their cheap-ness and the way they were “dumped” onto the army and Post Office, American aircraft and aero engine manufacturers had little encouragement to produce newer or more efficient types of either. 

Undoubtedly the machine which has had the greatest influence on modern commercial aircraft design was the Junkers monoplane of 1920. While not a freak in any sense, it presented several original features. It was entirely of metal, even the wings being covered with thin sheets of duralumin. The latter were tapered, about sixteen inches thick at the roots, and with a lifting power hitherto unknown. Also they were cantilever in structure without any supporting braces or similar resistance-offering surfaces, yet sufficiently strong to carry about fifteen full-grown men on each panel. They were placed below the fuselage instead of flush with or above as had previously been the custom with all monoplanes. Powered with a 185 h.p. engine, it carried seven people. Its present use on the great German lines and its adoption with slight changes all over the world has proved its success. 

The more efficient single wing was coming back into its own. In 1921 an Italian designer named Jacuzzi resident in California, manufactured a machine somewhat resembling the Junkers and started a passenger line between San Francisco and the Yosemite. Unfortunately before the company was in actual operation, the designer, the engineer, and a well known pilot were killed while on a long distance flight in a crash the cause of which was never learned. 

The Jacuzzi monoplane was a seven-seater cabin machine built of wood and fabric with a fifty foot span and slightly tapered wings. The power plant was a 200 h.p. Hall Scott motor. Aeronautical critics, however, took exception to the bracing of the wings which was in the form of Y-shaped spruce struts having the lower ends fastened to the axle of the undercarriage. Although this kind of bracing is seen slightly modified on modern three-engined planes today, it can never be classified as ideal, the slightest roughness in a landing communicating itself to the more delicate planes instead of being confined to a cheap and easily repaired damage of the chassis. 

A far more original and much neater design by an American was the Loughhead single-seater biplane exhibited at the Aero show in San Francisco in 1920. This little machine was a precursor of the light aeroplanes so popular at present in Europe. It was manufactured in Santa Barbara, California, and great care and attention to detail had been lavished on the finished product. Apart from the monocoque fuselage of three-ply wood, light and sturdy yet no thicker than one-eighth of an inch, there were other and more interesting features. The two cylinder, horizontally opposed, water cooled engine, also a product of the same firm, was entirely cowled in, the radiator being placed below the body.

The latter is a practice prevalent in latter-day U.S. military types. The wings were folding, allowing the machine to be stored in a garage ten feet wide. But the most notable peculiarity was that there were no ailerons or warping surfaces. Lateral control was effected by tilting the entire panel of one or other of the lower wings by means of a lever near the pilot’s seat. As no official record of the Loughhead biplane’s performance is available, the success of this feature is unknown. It was claimed the landing speed was only 30 m.p.h., and as the single-sparred lower wing could be swiveled to a vertical position immediately upon reaching the ground, an efficient air brake was provided. 

One must not forget that every one of the “freaks” described in this article flew. Of the countless atrocities that never left the ground no man will ever know; they were as the sands of the seashore. Also, it is well to remember when reading of some endurance contest or long distance flight that the pilots of a few years back had neither the splendid machines nor the reliable engines we have now. 

Yet, taking both these facts into consideration, there is hardly a present day stunt that has not been excelled by the earlier flyers. And the American pioneer aviator and constructor perhaps deserves more credit than any other; he least of all has had any support from press, public, or government. 

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The “freaks that flew” may seem strange, even laughable, to modern eyes, but they represent a critical step in aviation’s journey from fantasy to reality. These unconventional designs tested the limits of imagination and engineering, leaving a legacy that inspired future innovations. They remind us that progress often demands failure, experimentation, and a willingness to challenge convention. As I wrap up this look into these fascinating machines, I’d love to hear your thoughts and favorite moments from this incredible chapter in history. Don’t forget to like, subscribe, and join me for more stories that bring the skies to life. Until next time, keep your eyes on the horizon and your dreams in the clouds!