Bill Lear's Steam Obsession

“I try not to be confused by the fact that something will work,” Bill Lear reflected. “Can it work better? Be made cheaper? Serviced easier? Last longer? I have to think ahead!"

“To Karl Ludvigsen — a writer’s writer who understands engineering too — thank God! With my very kindest regards, Bill Lear 8/16/71.”

That’s the treasured inscription inside my copy of Victor Boesen’s lively biography of William Powell Lear. Its title was “They Said It Couldn’t Be Done”, which summed up as well as anyone could the story of Lear’s life. That applied to his autopilot, to his eight-track stereo player and, most definitively, to his dream of creating an affordable small jet airplane. Later “Learjet” became the generic term for a business jet.

I came into Bill’s life late in 1970 at the invitation of friend Bill Moore, a super-talented creative artist who had come to Lear’s headquarters city of Reno, Nevada to work for Autoweek. Moore joined the Lear operation at the former Stead Air Force Base north of Reno to become its publicity powerhouse, churning out presentations, flyers and promotional material and serving as in-house PR man to the prolific Lear.

As usual Bill Lear had countless projects on the go in the sprawling Stead facility: new autopilots, brushless electric motors and other products of his restless mind. When I met him Bill was 68 years old and embarked on the biggest project of his life — creation of a new pollution-free prime mover responding to America’s worries about the smog monster. I wrote several articles for Motor Trend and Signature giving the inside story of his quest. As well the two Bills commissioned me to write a company booklet about the steam-power system Lear was developing.

Bill and his vivacious wife Moya made me feel at home in their Reno circle and their riverside residence at Verdi (pronounced verd-eye) which was always teeming with friends and family members. Live-in couple Gunnar and Gertrude took care of the amenities with quiet competence, though Lear oversaw his own chili recipe using neck meat with pinto beans. He took over behind the counter to grill burgers for the multitudes.

Though avuncular in looks with his stocky build and thick glasses, Lear hadn’t lost the sense of fun that caused him to name one of his daughters Shanda. I joined the family for a trip to see the movie Cabaret. Afterward Bill regaled us with his experiences in the Berlin of the 1920s over dinner at his favorite Chinese restaurant.

Inevitably crackpots were attracted by the scent of Lear riches at Stead. One caller told his secretary he was ringing from 300 million miles out in space. “I hope it’s not collect,” joked Lear. Another said he had a jet engine capable of unlimited power. “It developed 100 horsepower,” Bill said, “and needed a 600-horsepower engine to start it.”

Only months before my first visit to Stead, Lear had finally settled on the expander that he decided to concentrate on for his steam system. It was built by a small company in a suburb of Denver that had spun off from Sundstrand, where its founders had been working on steam systems. Bob Barber of Barber-Nichols Engineering convinced Lear to commission him to build a turbine to take energy from the steam. A long search for “Learium” to swerve as a working fluid failed to improve on good old H2O.

Barber-Nichols built a single-stage axial-flow turbine derived from a design used in a World War 2 torpedo motor. Only 5.4 inches in diameter, its single-stage axial turbine wheel drove a three-stage reduction gearbox. Although initially expected to speed only to 46,000 rpm, the turbine wheel was successfully tested for safety at its maximum possible speed of 93,000 rpm.  Its nominal maximum was 65,000 rpm.

Bill’s team built steam-power units for a Chevrolet Monte Carlo — not a success — and for a rapid-transit bus that entered municipal service in San Francisco. In 1972 it covered a total of 3,900 miles with a minimum of problems. “It ran the steep hill routes,” recalled a Lear associate, “and was often overloaded because everyone wanted a ride.”

“Underscoring its relatively trouble-free time in San Francisco,” said the official report, “the steam bus was driven from San Francisco to Reno under its own power on August 31 and September 1, traveling 230 miles over the Sierra Nevada without major problems.” Others drove it at Stead, including yours truly, a great experience with what Bill Lear rightly enough called “the first new heat engine that’s been designed in 40 years.”

These promising results hit the buffers when the nation’s preoccupations changed from smog to soaring fuel prices. At this early stage the Lear system’s thirst was high. Later, Californian engineer Jim Crank obtained a spare Lear-bus 240-horsepower turbine and married it with his own boiler to build a car to top the speed record for a steamer of 127.659 mph set at Daytona by Fred Marriott in a Stanley in 1906.

Turbine-maker Bob Barber took over the speed-record project. In 1985 he personally recorded an average of 146.607 mph at Bonneville. It didn’t go into the international record books, however, because his time wasn’t officially observed. Thus both speeds were in the sights of an ambitious steam-record-car project launched in Britain early in the 21st century. It too used a turbine expander, a two-stage unit capable of 360 to 400 bhp. At Edwards Air Force Base in August of 2009 the car set a new official record at 139.843 mph with runs of 136 and 151 mph in two directions.

It was this car and its accomplishment that started me reminiscing about Bill Lear, because I’m a member of the technical subcommittee that decided it was worthy of receiving the Royal Automobile Club’s Simms Medal, “awarded to recognize a genuine contribution to motoring innovation by individuals or small companies that also exemplify the spirit of adventure.” The team’s achievement certainly met those criteria.