Most know Orville and Wilbur Wright as the pioneers of aviation, but few know of the third, less-accomplished Wright brother, Reuchlin. Last week, the Ohio History Center released Reuchlin Wright’s personal journal. The following is an excerpt from December 23rd 1911:
The winters in Ohio are cold but this may be the coldest yet. Not the weather per se, but it has come to my attention that Orville and Wilbur will be staying an additional fortnight. They arrived only yesterday but it’s felt like an eternity.
Wilbur returned home with his usual, “Apologies for the tardiness. Had to wait out the storm before we flew in.” Oh you just flew in? Not even a congenial salutation, it’s straight to occupations. Let’s leave work at work, shall we? I spent five hours washing Mother’s new evening gown but you don’t see me bringing it up willy-nilly.
Dinner was more of the same. Orville and Wilbur discussing their latest travels. Father looking at them with admiration, then back to me with utter disdain. Each glance a pointed reminder I had not and will not invent a revolutionary form of transportation. Little does he know, I’ve been working on a very sophisticated skip-walk hybrid, which I call “The Skwalk.” Hitherto I have deemed “skwalking” as the ideal combination for maximum speed with minimal energy exertion. This new stride is sure to make waves in the ambulatory circuits once it gets off the ground, but Father won’t be impressed unless it does so literally.
About halfway through dinner Mother said, “Reuchlin my dear, won’t you walk to the kitchen and fetch the potatoes?” Reuchlin, walk this way. Reuchlin, don’t fly that way. I expected this type of behavior from Father, not from her. But did I make a scene like last year? No. I kept my mouth shut and skwalked to the kitchen without a fuss.
Tonight I anticipate another night of poor repose. Why must I sleep on the couch even though I’m the eldest? Orville injures his back in a minor propeller-related incident and now he “must” sleep in my bedchamber. That sounds like a fairly weak excuse for someone Father deemed, “One of my two favorite sons.” But it appears old Reuchlin will have to settle for the straw-stuffed couch yet again.
I’m slowly reaching my wit’s end, and it appears my wick’s end has followed suit. As this candlelight fades and the wax wanes, I must put down the quill. Tomorrow will be a better day. Icarus’ fall was just as great as his rise. But I shall not fly too close to the sun for my dreams are firmly on the ground, skwalking toward greatness.
