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The Rev. T.W. Stout had some (mostly) good advice for the girls of Calvary Methodist Church in Minneapolis. Tribune editors published the list the next day so that girls of every faith might benefit.
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| Calvary Methodist Church, Penn Avenue North and Oak Park Avenue, Minneapolis, in about 1915. (Image courtesy of mnhs.org)
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Here’s one more reason to turn off your cellphone in church – especially if you’re the one giving the sermon. From the Minneapolis Tribune:
"Cowboy evangelist" J.C. Kellogg was the featured speaker at Foursquare Gospel Church at 27th and Blaisdell in Minneapolis for a few weeks in the fall of 1936. Minneapolis Star ads touting his appearance promised talks on "The Wild Men of Europe," "The Mark of the Beast" and "Health, Wealth & Prosperity for Every Believer." The Star sent a photographer -- but no reporter -- to record his unusual form of preaching. At one point the bespectacled and bechapped evangelist stood atop the lectern, his lariat spinning furiously, but the sparse captions don't reveal whether he was able to pull in any new believers.
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| The Minneapolis Star caption: "J.C. Kellogg, cowboy evangelist, begins whirling his lariat at the Four Square Gospel church. ... Expertly he whirls his rope as the congregation sits at attention while he performs his nightly services." |
Seventy-six years ago this week, Jean and Jeannette Piccard rode their hydrogen balloon 57,579 feet into the stratosphere and onto the front pages of American newspapers. Their mission: to gather data on cosmic rays, using Geiger counters and other instruments aboard their pressurized magnesium-alloy gondola.Jeannette, the first American woman to earn a balloon pilot’s license and the first woman to reach the stratosphere, guided the craft. Her husband, an organic chemist and aeronautical engineer, monitored the instruments. Along for the ride was Jean’s pet turtle, Fleur de Lys. The couple’s two sons – Don, 8, and Paul, 10 – were among the 45,000 spectators who witnessed the takeoff at the Ford Airport in Dearborn, Mich.“I was nervous right after the take-off,” she told a United Press reporter. “The wind bumped the gondola around a great deal, but before long we began to ascend rapidly and when we got into the upper air it was very calm. We hardly seemed to be moving, but I guess that sometimes we must have been drifting at 90 miles an hour or more.”Seven hours later, the craft landed safely, its instruments intact, in a tall elm tree near Cadiz, Ohio.Don Piccard, now 84, lives in Minneapolis. An interview follows this Minneapolis Star account of his parents’ historic flight.
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Jean Piccard in the unfinished gondola in 1933. (Associated Press photo) |
PROFESSOR AND
WIFE STUDYING
UPPER AIR RAYS
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| A jubilant Jeannette Piccard beamed for the cameras after landing safely outside Cadiz, Ohio. |
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| Jean and Jeannette Piccard emerged from their gondola sometime after the landing. Their son Don suspects the photo was a posed one, taken hours later. (Photo courtesy San Diego Air and Space Museum) |
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| Before the flight, Jean Piccard took this photo of his wife, Jeannette, and the gondola that would carry them to a height of nearly 11 miles. (Photo courtesy Don Piccard) |
MORE ON THE STORY: After completing their historic flight, Jean and Jeannette Piccard sought work at major universities, hoping to parlay their success into teaching and research positions. In 1936, Jean joined the faculty of the University of Minnesota's Department of Aeronautical Engineering and the family settled in Minneapolis. He taught classes, conducted research and continued to play a key role in historic balloon flights. He retired in 1952.
A "Star Trek" character, Jean-Luc Picard, was named in honor of Jean and his twin brother, Auguste, a pioneering air and deep-sea explorer.
Jeannette, who already had a master's degree in organic chemistry from the University of Chicago, earned a doctorate in education from the U in 1942. After Jean's death in 1963, she worked as a NASA consultant, speaking to the scientific community and the public about the space program during the Apollo years. In 1974, at age 79, she was ordained a priest in the Episcopal Church, fulfilling a lifelong dream. It was another pioneering effort: The church did not open the priesthood to women until 1976 – and did not recognize her ordination until 1977. She served as a priest in St. Paul until her death in 1981.
Don Piccard, the 8-year-old son mentioned in the third paragraph of the wire account above, lives in Minneapolis in the home where he was raised. Now 84, he is recognized as the “father of modern hot-air ballooning.” “I didn't invent the hot-air balloon,” he explains. “I figured out how to use it,” perfecting flight techniques that had eluded hot-air balloonists for more than a century.
Don Piccard
During World War II, he served in the Navy as a balloon and airship rigger. He helped found the Balloon Club of America in 1948 and eventually began building balloons and promoting the new sport. He appeared on “The Johnny Carson Show” in the 1960s after taking Carson on his first balloon flight. As owner of Don Piccard Balloons, he's still active in the sport, flying as often as he can. “I had a nice flight in Topeka two weeks ago,” he says. “I don't really fly often enough, but it is an expensive hobby.”
More than 75 years after his parents flew to the edge of space, Don remembers some arresting details from that October night: His parents wore tweed jackets and pants. They brought along black tea and angel food cake and rosin and matches. Don recalls being slightly jealous of his dad's pet turtle, Fleur de Lys. “I believe I wanted to go along instead of the turtle,” he says.
He recalls the height his parents achieved that night as easily you might remember your first phone number. “57,679 feet,” he says. “I think they were planning to go a little higher [to surpass a record set the year before]. But they wanted to reserve ballast and maintain control and not lose the product of their flight, the scientific instruments.” Though not recognized formally, because a man was on board, it was a record height for a woman, unsurpassed until Valentina Tereshkova orbited the earth in Vostok 6 in June 1963.
One thing he doesn't recall about that night: fear.
“I had no fear or trepidation or worry about my folks,” he says. “They'd been in a balloon before. My father was very safety conscious. As an explosives expert, he was extremely detail-oriented.”
When he learned of his parents' safe landing the next day, at the home of a family friend in Dearborn, he doesn't recall feeling relief. “I was surprised they were in Ohio,” he says. “I would have thought Pennsylvania or New Jersey.”
Has Don, a pioneering hot-air balloonist who has flown to great heights himself, ever dreamed of space travel?
“In orbit? No, I've never wanted to do that,” he says. “It's not my expertise. It's extremely dangerous, and I don't know of any personal benefit I would gain from it.”
Seventy-six years ago this week, Jean and Jeannette Piccard rode their hydrogen balloon 57,579 feet into the stratosphere and onto the front pages of American newspapers. Their mission: to gather data on cosmic rays, using Geiger counters and other instruments aboard their pressurized magnesium-alloy gondola.Jeannette, the first American woman to earn a balloon pilot’s license and the first woman to reach the stratosphere, guided the craft. Her husband, an organic chemist and aeronautical engineer, monitored the instruments. Along for the ride was Jean’s pet turtle, Fleur de Lys. The couple’s two sons – Don, 8, and Paul, 10 – were among the 45,000 spectators who witnessed the takeoff at the Ford Airport in Dearborn, Mich.“I was nervous right after the take-off,” she told a United Press reporter. “The wind bumped the gondola around a great deal, but before long we began to ascend rapidly and when we got into the upper air it was very calm. We hardly seemed to be moving, but I guess that sometimes we must have been drifting at 90 miles an hour or more.”Seven hours later, the craft landed safely, its instruments intact, in a tall elm tree near Cadiz, Ohio.Don Piccard, now 84, lives in Minneapolis. An interview follows this Minneapolis Star account of his parents’ historic flight.
![]() |
|
Jean Piccard in the unfinished gondola in 1933. (Associated Press photo) |
PROFESSOR AND
WIFE STUDYING
UPPER AIR RAYS
![]() |
|
| A jubilant Jeannette Piccard beamed for the cameras after landing safely outside Cadiz, Ohio. |
![]() |
|
| Jean and Jeannette Piccard emerged from their gondola sometime after the landing. Their son Don suspects the photo was a posed one, taken hours later. (Photo courtesy San Diego Air and Space Museum) |
![]() |
| Before the flight, Jean Piccard took this photo of his wife, Jeannette, and the gondola that would carry them to a height of nearly 11 miles. (Photo courtesy Don Piccard) |
MORE ON THE STORY: After completing their historic flight, Jean and Jeannette Piccard sought work at major universities, hoping to parlay their success into teaching and research positions. In 1936, Jean joined the faculty of the University of Minnesota's Department of Aeronautical Engineering and the family settled in Minneapolis. He taught classes, conducted research and continued to play a key role in historic balloon flights. He retired in 1952.
A "Star Trek" character, Jean-Luc Picard, was named in honor of Jean and his twin brother, Auguste, a pioneering air and deep-sea explorer.
Jeannette, who already had a master's degree in organic chemistry from the University of Chicago, earned a doctorate in education from the U in 1942. After Jean's death in 1963, she worked as a NASA consultant, speaking to the scientific community and the public about the space program during the Apollo years. In 1974, at age 79, she was ordained a priest in the Episcopal Church, fulfilling a lifelong dream. It was another pioneering effort: The church did not open the priesthood to women until 1976 – and did not recognize her ordination until 1977. She served as a priest in St. Paul until her death in 1981.
Don Piccard, the 8-year-old son mentioned in the third paragraph of the wire account above, lives in Minneapolis in the home where he was raised. Now 84, he is recognized as the “father of modern hot-air ballooning.” “I didn't invent the hot-air balloon,” he explains. “I figured out how to use it,” perfecting flight techniques that had eluded hot-air balloonists for more than a century.
Don Piccard
During World War II, he served in the Navy as a balloon and airship rigger. He helped found the Balloon Club of America in 1948 and eventually began building balloons and promoting the new sport. He appeared on “The Johnny Carson Show” in the 1960s after taking Carson on his first balloon flight. As owner of Don Piccard Balloons, he's still active in the sport, flying as often as he can. “I had a nice flight in Topeka two weeks ago,” he says. “I don't really fly often enough, but it is an expensive hobby.”
More than 75 years after his parents flew to the edge of space, Don remembers some arresting details from that October night: His parents wore tweed jackets and pants. They brought along black tea and angel food cake and rosin and matches. Don recalls being slightly jealous of his dad's pet turtle, Fleur de Lys. “I believe I wanted to go along instead of the turtle,” he says.
He recalls the height his parents achieved that night as easily you might remember your first phone number. “57,679 feet,” he says. “I think they were planning to go a little higher [to surpass a record set the year before]. But they wanted to reserve ballast and maintain control and not lose the product of their flight, the scientific instruments.” Though not recognized formally, because a man was on board, it was a record height for a woman, unsurpassed until Valentina Tereshkova orbited the earth in Vostok 6 in June 1963.
One thing he doesn't recall about that night: fear.
“I had no fear or trepidation or worry about my folks,” he says. “They'd been in a balloon before. My father was very safety conscious. As an explosives expert, he was extremely detail-oriented.”
When he learned of his parents' safe landing the next day, at the home of a family friend in Dearborn, he doesn't recall feeling relief. “I was surprised they were in Ohio,” he says. “I would have thought Pennsylvania or New Jersey.”
Has Don, a pioneering hot-air balloonist who has flown to great heights himself, ever dreamed of space travel?
“In orbit? No, I've never wanted to do that,” he says. “It's not my expertise. It's extremely dangerous, and I don't know of any personal benefit I would gain from it.”
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