hat makes people respond so deeply and personally to a machine, an object that supposedly possesses no spirit or soul, that’s presumably little more than a heartless mass of metal and wires, devoid of any humanizing influence?

     The Lockheed Constellation isn’t just an ordinary machine.  There’s something else at work here that’s difficult to explain.  People who flew in the plane either as crew or passengers back in the 1940s, ‘50s, and ‘60s --the golden years of commercial aviation--regard it with special affection.  It’s not just another vintage aircraft; it’s the embodiment of a superlative mix of technical savvy and imaginative vision.

     The four-engine aircraft was first developed in the early 1940s.  As the principle shareholder in TWA (or Transcontinental and Western Air, as it was known back then), maverick millionaire Howard Hughes saw the need for a fleet of superliners that would carry passengers nonstop from coast to coast in ten hours at speeds of more than 300 mph.

     In 1938 Hughes flew around the world in a twin-engine Lockheed Electra in 3 days, 19 hours, and 17 minutes--a new record.  If he could circle the globe that fast in a two-engine plane, what could he achieve with four-engines?  With his customary bravado, Hughes ransacked the aviation industry to find the best talent to bring his idea to fruition.

     Contrary to persistent rumor, Hughes did not design the Connie.  That distinction went to Kelly Johnson, Lockheed’s chief research engineer, who devised the aircraft’s signature triple-tail configuration--three vertical sections set in a horizontal stabilizer that ensured a smooth ride.

     Johnson is also responsible for the Connie’s unusual fuselage shape.  To reduce the length of the nose landing gear, which already was quite long because of the large propellers, the fuselage curved down at the nose and slightly up toward the tail.  These sweeping lines more accurately simulated the windflow along the wings and fuselage, making the plane both aesthetically pleasing and aerodynamically efficient.

     One day in the early 1940s, the eccentric Mr. Hughes showed up at the office of Lockheed president Robert Gross wearing a frayed white shirt, rumpled slacks, a fedora hat, and sandals.  After crawling around on the floor studying the blueprints of what was to become the prototypical Connie, Hughes muttered, “I like ‘em.  Give me a price.”

     Each aircraft would cost $450,000, Gross replied, expecting Hughes to howl in protest.  Instead, the mysterious aviator-mogul merely shrugged.  “TWA can’t pay for them,” he confessed.  “The airline is flat broke.”  He lapsed into moody silence.  “I guess I’ll have to pay for them myself.  Build ‘em, Bob, and send the bill to the Hughes Tool Company in Houston.”

     And build them, Bob did.  The first prototype was flown by Hughes and TWA president Jack Frye from Burbank, California, to Washington, D.C. on April 17, 1944, at an altitude of 17,000 feet, in 6 hours, 57 minutes, and 51 seconds, a transcontinental record for the time.

     The airlines were duly impressed; unfortunately, World War Two was raging, and all Constellations that rolled off the assembly line were snatched up by the military.

     It wasn’t until after the war that civilian airliners took possession.  From 1943 to 1959, 856 Connies were built; of those, 147 became the property of TWA.  Today, throughout the world, it is estimated that there are fewer than five Connies that can still actually fly.