I never expected a picture in a magazine to change my life, but that’s exactly what happened. One look at a French flying wing and I was hooked. Soon I was building, flying, and questioning everything I thought I knew — until the doubts sent me in a new direction: college.
A French Wing Sparks Curiosity
When I saw that French design — a straight wing with heavy taper and no sweep — my first thought was, that can’t possibly fly. Then I turned the page and saw it soaring at 8,000 feet. I couldn’t believe it. I read that article again and again, and I couldn’t get it out of my head.
Experiments by the Garage
At home I tried to copy it with small models. The side of our garage created a kind of ridge lift, and I’d launch my gliders into it. Conventional models would climb for a moment and then drop out of the lift. But the little French-style wing? It would hold steady and soar right up, even correcting itself after gusts. That was all the proof I needed to keep going.
Discovering the Flying Plank
Not long after, I read about the Flying Plank in Texas — a stubby Hershey-bar wing with tip fins and a tiny pilot pod. I wrote to its designer, and to my surprise, he wrote back with the airfoil data.
That generosity lit a fire in me. I started drawing and building my own plank with a longer wingspan, and for the next year and a half it consumed my time. That design became the foundation of what I would later call the XM-1 prototype, my very first man-carrying flying wing.
Taking Flight
Finally, with two high school friends, I hauled the glider to a field and tried it out. It flew. The elevator felt quicker than I expected, but compared to my wired control models it was nothing I couldn’t handle. I adapted quickly and made a handful of flights, maybe sixty feet high, grinning the whole time.
A Turning Point
But the more I flew, the more I wondered: Was it really strong enough? Did I know enough to be building aircraft? The honest answer was no. That’s when I decided it was time to learn properly. I applied to Parks College in St. Louis, was accepted, and left my plank behind. In the library there, I found everything I’d been missing — structure, physics, math — and I devoured it. That was the beginning of building with both passion and knowledge.
Share Your Thoughts
This is another story in our series, Jim Marske: In His Own Words. What moment pushed you to seek deeper knowledge or training in your own passion? Share your reflections with the Marske community in the comments below.
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