Man and balloons have experienced tumultuous relationships from the
Hindenburg to Balloon Boy. For whatever reason humans, usually Darwin-award-winning males, remain fascinated with nearly killing themselves in the most creative ways possible. Apparently, for some, the thrill of involving gravity-defying, helium-filled pieces of rubber proves irresistible in their insane conquests.
The face coloring of the man inches from being thrown off the empire state building look spot on.
One of the earliest pioneers of the children’s amusement turned flying apparatus was daredevil/photographer Al Mingalone. His attempt in 1937 to suspend himself hundreds of feet in the air using only balloons laid the groundwork for many balloon-related escapades like Larry Walters AKA the “Lawn Chair Pilot" decades later. This is the story of balloon-father Al Mingalone.
1944 Newsreel / Earl and Jack of the Skating Earls skate atop the Empire State Building on a platform 87 stories up. Getty
The Madness
The Associated Press headline for Mingalone’s skyward exploration said it all, “A New York newsreel photographer went on an unscheduled, un-scientific ascent into the atmosphere today.” But to explain how the Paramount photographer ended up drifting thousands of feet over Maine, one only needs to look at his thrill-seeking history.
Paramount New's ace cameraman Al Mingalone is spun on the platform while filming. Getty
The Man
Mingalone who also moonlighted as the trenchcoat and fedora spokesman for Camel cigarettes, “I smoke a whole lot of Camels. They really do not jangle my nerves,” lived life dangerously. Infamously, he once commissioned a professional skater to whirl him around atop the Empire State building, spinning just mere feet from certain death. He also held onto the side of a submarine as it submerged at a time when most people avoided the deep end of a pool.
The Idea
For his follow-up act, Mingalone decided to tether himself to 30 or so giant helium balloons to raise approximately 200 feet in the air all in the name of photography. What could be worth such a risk to capture on film you ask, whale migration? A historic concert? Nope, a golf course. And to think this man put his life on the line for what a drone from Walmart could do today.
Apparently, risking your life for photos isn't exclusive to a younger generation.
Take Off
So on September 28th, 1937, Mingalone strapped himself into a parachute harness and prepared for a flight over an Old Orchard Seashore golf course in Maine. Armed with just a 12-pound Bell & Howell film camera, he left earth anchored to the ground by a 200-foot-long rope only watched over by Thomas Bowman, who worked at the golf course. What occurred next is worthy of a feature film or at least, a limited series
Disaster Strikes
Naturally, once Mingalone hit his desired altitude of 200 feet you know what hit the fan. His anchor rope, the only thing keeping him within shouting distance of the ground, snapped. Bowman raced to grab onto the rapidly rising rope but rather cinematically tripped, just hands width from the rope as his charge drifted out of reach.
Mingalone helplessly dangling thousands of feet in the air. Weirdnews
The Chase
Also on hand were Rev. James Mullen, a Catholic priest and aviation enthusiast along with fellow photographer, Philip Coolidge. Together they jumped in a car and set off in pursuit of Mingalone who had risen to roughly 2,000 feet in just a few minutes and drifted miles from his original take-off spot. Luckily, the wind took him south rather than east over the ocean and the good Reverend just happened to be a skeet shooting aficionado as well.
All for some pictures of a golf course.
The Save
Why the Reverend had a .22 on hand remains a mystery. As Time reported, “Mullen jumped from the auto, chanced a shot at the balloons 25-feet over Mingalone’s head, missed. His second shot punctured two of the spheres.” Unfortunately, puncturing two balloons did not sufficiently bring Mingalone down to earth following the loss of his weighty camera.
“Dangling from a harness beneath the runaway balloons, Mingalone attracted appreciable interest when he soared over the mill metropolitan areas of Biddeford and Saco.” Finally, “Father Mullen sprinted into a cornfield, kneeled, plunked another balloon,” Time wrote. “That was all the exhausted, dripping Mingalone desired to deliver him to earth.” Apparently, his antics were enough for the Countrywide Headliner’s Club to award Mingalone a silver plaque in Atlantic Town. In the photo, the daring cameraman wears a monocle and white tuxedo.
