A Letter from Wilbur to Orville Wright

Dear Orville,

While I do verily appreciate your dedication to our aerounautical endeavours, I do have one minor point of contention that I feel I must bring up at this juncture. Why is it that I am always the one forced to climb the rickety steps into our various gliding ships and pilot them at breakneck speeds over sometime quite rocky, and always quite dangerous, terrain?

I know that after the last crash you said you hadn’t realized that there would be numerous cactus-plants on the ground, but when I asked the owner of the ranch (as his wife removed the 239 barbs individually) what it was they grew, he responded to me that they had been cactus-plant farmers for almost a hundred years. In fact, they are the only such cactus-plant farmers in the entire region, and are quite well known for it. I know, I know, you were supposed to be the one flying that day, but it seems a little convenient that your “gout” should act up each and every time we attempt the miracle of human flight.

At Kitty Hawk, who flew the glider? Myself. Of course, that local boy flew it first, god rest his soul. But then I flew it. And might I say I was mighty lucky to have survived. You saw what the crash did to that boy’s sternum. Even a fully-grown ribcage could not have withstood such a blow from a bull’s horns. There, again, I must ask you dear brother: why in the name of the almighty would you choose to perform our experiment over a corral of bulls? I do appreciate that you let me make the speech after I survived the first flight, but I do contend that my life was only saved by introducing the steering mechanism you had so firmly stood against. It was lucky I did install the device, because you must have failed to notice the gaping 300 ft. gorge only a few hundred yards from the launch site you so forcefully pushed me off from.

Frankly, dear Orville, I feel that I have been put in harm’s way an inordinate amount, while you are allowed to simply rest comfortably with both feet on the ground as I battle the machine and the winds for dear life. I dare not think that this should somehow have to do with the money Pa left me after he died. You know he loved us both, dear brother. Am I really to blame for him loving me more? I would gladly assist you if you were ever in need of money. Yes, I did deny you that loan, but I truly do not believe that any time should be wasted on the preposterous idea of “moving photographs.” It is absolutely absurd, and nobody in his right mind would ever pay money to see one. Nor could I ever believe that a mold could in any way combat illness. These are the murmurings of a madman. Let us stick to the most practical ideas, as we always have: the idea of man soaring above the earth like some sort of grotesque bird.

I am, as always, respectfully your brother,

Wilbur Wright

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