The following is a firsthand account of a Feb. 2, 1920, barnstorming “adventure“ at Bolling Field, captured on film for an early newsreel that would precede a matinee movie later that year. The writer's name is lost to history, but he captures the thrill of these early daredevils of the air in flight.

“We had gone down from New York to Washington to make, with the aid of an Army air man, some 'stunt pictures.' Our Expeditionary force consisted of a detachment of the greatest celluloid newspaper, the Pathe News, two other correspondents and myself. For two days we splashed around in the mud of Bolling Field chafing at the unavoidable delays in assembling the fleet of planes which were necessary for our work.

“On the third morning, however, Major Martin F. Scanlon, in command at Bolling Field, telephoned us that the Giant Handley Page Bomber, which we had been waiting for, had landed at the field, and that everything was ready for the first picture, ‘A Leap for Life’ in a parachute, from the end of one of the wings of this monster.

“The leap was made by Sergeant Billy Moon, who in making experiments with airplane parachutes, had made some 42 such descents on the other side during the war.

“Two camera men were to record his drop. In the front cockpit of the bomber from which he was to leap was stationed H. D. Blauveld, veteran celluloid sharpshooter, who with his camera, had followed strange trails over half the globe, in search of picture novelties. Bee, to use his nickname, was to record the picture of the lad as he edged his way along the wing and swung off, while in a smaller and more agile plane Tommy Baltzwell, the upside-down cameraman as they called him at Bolling Field, was to be spiraled round and round, following the sergeant on his descent. Besides the Pilot of the Bomber, and just behind Bee was stationed E. (Emanuel) Cohen of the Pathe News, who was to personally direct the taking of the pictures.

“Slowly we rose and gradually climbed higher and higher in a broad circle. It was a relief, at least, to note that the great plane always kept on an even keel, there was none of the tipping up on one wing which you experience in a lighter plane when the pilot makes a sharp turn. Up, and up we went, to an altitude at which the atmosphere looked clear and blue above, but thick and wooly off on the horizon of the mist that lay above the earth, of which the only part that lay directly below us was plainly visible. A little below us, and off to one side, Tommy's pilot was maneuvering for a position.

“Then Cohen, having exchanged signals with the other plane, turned and nodded at Moon. With a good-natured grin and matter-of-fact 'see you later old chap' nod to me, the Sergeant scrambled out of the fuselage. Carefully feeling his way, but without the slightest trace of anxiety or uncertainty, he crept forward to the wing, and there bracing himself against the terrific force of a hundred mile or more an hour wind, holding on to the light wire braces with his bare hands, he edged his way, along to the very wing tip where the parachute done up in a bag, was suspended. Bee, meanwhile was grinding away from the forward cock-pit.

“Slowly the Sergeant turned and sat down. A moment later he had buckled the parachute rope to the strong belt that encircled his waist. One final grin at the nearby cameras and -- as we held our breath -- off he slid. I turned to catch a glimpse of him as he flashed by. There he was a way off. Ah! The parachute had opened. For a moment I could see Tommy's pilot, his machine tipped up, almost on edge, starting his downward spiral. Then they were out of sight.

“Once down on the ground again, our generalissimo hurried to headquarters to call up New York. For at no time was he away from a telephone long ... then we were told that Lieutenant Patrick Logan the stuntman extraordinary, was ready to perform some spectacular flying which Tommy was to record on celluloid. For half an hour, the two planes played about, a mile or more above us, Lt. Logan going through all the evolutions. The loop, tail, spin, nose dive, falling leaf and other stunts, the names of which have become so familiar. And all the time Tommy's pilot was going through nearly as many evolutions in order that the plane might be kept within range of Tommy's camera.

“Tommy was rather reticent about commenting on his experience of being tossed about up among the clouds. As a veteran of this new craft it had all become rather commonplace to him.

“Was he scared? Well NO-O-oo. You see, you've got too much to do just minding your camera to bother about getting scared, he explained after some moments of deep thought.

“'I will tell you how it is,' he said in a tone of one who at last solved a deep problem. 'Everything is sort of whirling around you and you don't try especially to figure out your bearings because there is no use. Well, all at once you come out of some sort of flip-flop, and the earth and sky have quit chasing each other and you feel as if you were sitting pretty again. Naturally, you look down and think it's funny you can't see land – only blue sky. Then you look up and right above you is the earth and there for a minute you wonder what the earth is doing up there where it oughtn't to be. Then about that time your feet seem to rise off the floor and you have to push them down again. And then you know that you're upside down. That is all I know about it.'

“Captain Felix Steinle, who had charge of the flying part of the undertaking, expressed himself as glad that we got through without an accident.“