Dynamite in South America

When the U.S. State Department began to chase the Axis-controlled airlines out of South America back in 1938 nobody ever dreamed the whole program would some day end in a conglomeration of good intentions, good airline service, international politics and sinister trans-ocean intrigue. Yet that was the shape of things last week. And in many a South American city and town there were signs that: 1) although the U.S. did a good turn in ousting Axis airlines, it has since been unable to expand service fast enough to meet total demand; 2) the U.S. has not done enough to stop its citizens from hogging airline seats; 3) the U.S. has been frightfully tough about selling South Americans new planes and spare parts.

Main trouble is that everything moved too fast: the Axis airlines went out like a light and traffic skyrocketed. In January 1941 Nazi-controlled airlines sprawled over 23,000 South American miles v. 26,000 route miles for U.S.-owned Pan American Airways and Panagra. But the State Department played its cards well: soon after Pearl Harbor not a single Axis airline remained in operation south of the border. South Americans got the idea, grabbed Axis airplanes and equipment, started flying some 34,000 route miles themselves. And since the beginning of 1940 Pan Am and Panagra have pushed routes up 94% to 47,000 miles, built new airports, terminal buildings, radio stations as fast as they could.

On a timetable basis results have been terrific: commercial planes fly daily from Miami to Rio de Janeiro, and Buenos Aires, against only four flights weekly two years ago; Santiago to Buenos Aires service has jumped from four to seven flights weekly; there is daily service on Ecuador's Guayaquil-Quito beat v. only three times weekly under Nazi operation.

The airlines have performed aviation miracles, have done this added flying with almost no increase in equipment: since Pearl Harbor U.S. airlines and South American operators have been able to buy fewer than a dozen new planes. And Pan Am could only watch as the U.S. Army pre-empted deliveries of some 50 planes Pan Am had expected to fly this year.

Atop this, the U.S. is using South American airlines more than ever. Most of this new flying is war business. Thus for months all planes headed from Miami and Brownsville to the Canal Zone have been so jam-packed with U.S. diplomats, soldiers, construction workers and South American priority traffic that many plain citizens and tons of cargo have been left behind. In Peru the natives gripe at the coolness of some U.S. airmen, get peeved because U.S. operators do not dish out free rides as the Nazis did, get mad when families of Latin American officials are pushed off airliners in favor of servants of U.S. travelers. When the important U.S.-South American parleys were held in Rio last March, the State Department worked frantically to wangle enough airplane seats for the visiting delegates.

U.S. operators are doing all they can to prevent such beefs. Last week Panagra started a new all-cargo service between Lima and the Canal Zone, set up a new trans-Andean schedule between Antofagasta and Salta to boot.

Dynamite. One upshot of the whole situation has been startling activity in South American airlines. In Argentina, Italian-financed, eight-year-old Corporacion Sud Americana de Servicios Aereos was suddenly reorganized eight months ago, wound up with a new vice president: Ramon Castillo Jr., son of Argentina's President.

Corporacion now flies three broken-down Italian Macchi seaplanes over 850 route miles. But it has dreams of much bigger things, is dickering for more equipment and a route to Rio. Meantime the arrival of a Spanish mission in Buenos Aires started the jolting rumor that Corporacion is the hub of a new transatlantic airline from Argentina to Europe--and Berlin. Thus, Corporacion packs political dynamite aplenty.

Until she declared war on the Axis, things were almost as bad in Brazil. Biggest sore spot was the huge 6,000-mile Condor line, which wants to get back some of the 4,000 route miles it has lost since 1940, would just as soon take them from U.S. airlines as anybody else. German-run and German-controlled only nine months ago, Condor was nationalized after Pearl Harbor. But until the day Brazil went to war Condor's managing director was tall, bald Ernesto Hoelck, who speaks an excellent brand of German-accented Portuguese. So the U.S. kept Condor on the blacklist.

Now there will be more Brazilian cooperation but probably more competition too. Thus Brazilians are sure to ask Washington for sleek U.S.-made transports to bolster Condor's fleet of 23 Junkers and Focke-Wulf transports. Meanwhile Brazil toys with a deal to give Argentina's Corporation a route to Rio if Condor gets a route to Buenos Aires.

Thus the U.S. still has a whale of a job to do in South American aviation. For want of a little more tact and a few more planes the whole Good Neighbor policy is being chipped and scarred. Whatever the State Department finally decides to do, U.S. aviation insiders have a fast, simple solution: give South American airlines 15 to 25 huge transports right away. With this equipment U.S. lines would have a better chance to keep down Axis competition and give South Americans the finest airline service ever.

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