Being a true showman, W. H. Donaldson named his first balloon the Comet. It was twenty-six feet in diameter, took 8,000 cubic feet of gas from the Reading Gas Works, and had a lift of 225 pounds. A wicker basket hung below the gas-filled balloon. On August 30, 1871, Donaldson made his maiden voyage from Penn Square in Reading.

… Everything being in readiness, the Professor set off at a quarter to ten o’clock. All the ballast had to be thrown off before the balloon would rise, and even then it lodged upon the roof of a house on Court Street, below Fifth.

Resolved to go at all hazards, he reflected a moment as to how he should preserve his credit. The adventurer then threw out his rope, grappling iron, coat, boots, hat, and provisions, when the balloon rose gracefully and took a northerly direction.

When up about a quarter of a mile the Professor proceeded to the performance of some daring gymnastic feats. “Skinning the cat”—as the boys call it—upon the hoop just above the basket.

The balloon passed through a cloud in its passage, and in half an hour had disappeared from sight in a northeasterly direction. At eleven o’clock the balloon commenced falling rapidly, and came down in a plowed field, about three miles south of Topton, having traversed a distance of some eighteen miles.

There being no ballast to throw out, the balloon struck the ground violently, rebounding, the Professor says, “as high as a house.” …

Excited farmers soon gathered around and assisted Donaldson in packing up the balloon and placing it upon a farm wagon, and it was conveyed to Topton. Donaldson estimated that he had reached a height of about a mile and a quarter during his first flight in space. He described the trip: “It was so glorious that I resolved to abandon the tightrope forever.”

The title “Professor,” which was commonly accorded to the professional aeronauts of the day by the newspaper writers, was now quickly tacked on to Donaldson’s moniker. “Professor Donaldson” had found his fame alongside the other flying “Professors” such as Allen, Wise, La Mountain, Steiner, Lowe, and King.

The Professor had quite a knack for commenting on his flights. Of his first flight he exclaimed, “It was so glorious that I resolved to abandon the tightrope forever.”

The newly acclaimed Professor Donaldson immediately announced his intention of making a second ascension on September 4. In addition he announced that he would not use a basket under the balloon. Instead he would have only a trapeze bar! The intense excitement of the people of Reading from his first trip soon mirrored itself on the second trip as the community flocked to the public square until it was densely packed.

The shining inflated monster rocked back and forth, dragging the attendants with it as it surged with the light breeze. Shortly after one o’clock Prof. Donaldson appeared, dressed in tights. In a few moments all was ready, and he took his position upon the trapeze-bar. There being but little breeze at the time, he rose gracefully and went almost straight up for a mile. … (Amick, 13)

He startled persons along the route of his flight by performing on his trapeze, making more than one heart skip a beat as he hung by his knees and waved an American flag.

… Suddenly the aeronaut threw himself backward and fell, catching with his toes on the bar. That sen[t] a thrill through the crowd, but with another spring he was up standing on the bar; and then followed one feat after another, hanging by one hand, one foot, by the back of his head, etc., … his glittering dress sparkled in the sun long after his outline was lost to the naked eye, … (Ibid.)

From his lofty perch, Donaldson became chilled by the cold and decided to return to earth. He pulled the red valve cord, letting out a trickle of gas and the Comet slowly began its descent. The Professor again was a glittering, bespangled speck of a man as the crowd gazed on. “He’ll get his neck broken yet.” “He’ll go up once too often.” “There will come a Judgement Day for this blasphemy!” He had their attention now.

… Then suddenly women screamed and men gasped in horror. The sun glinted on something tumbling down from the balloon! Was this crazy balloonatic tumbling to his death? After plummeting a hundred feet or more—the object—a dummy—jerked to a stop—and split open—showering down hundreds of printed copies of a tiny bulletin called Donaldson’s Balloon Gazette.

… Crafty Wash had sold $300 worth of advertising space (to Mishler, most likely) in the world’s first aerial commercial! (Dwiggins, 102)

But Donaldson was not home free. The valve had somehow stuck open, and the rapidly emptying balloon plummeted earthward. The Professor clung to the netting and rode it downward until suddenly the lower half of the Comet collapsed upward, forming a crude parachute. His fall checked, Donaldson slowly settled into a large oak tree on the outskirts of town, but not before the escaping gas caused the balloon to tear a hole about three-fourths of the length of the envelope—the balloon itself. The balloon was turned partially inside out! Donaldson says that when falling he was for the first time in his life seriously alarmed, and scarcely knew how he struck the ground. (Amick, 14). From then on, he kept Reading popeyed and breathless with his sensational didos and flare for novelty.

As history would record, the Professor was as lucky as a “cat with nine lives,” exercising this option many times and more—never giving a thought or care and landing on his feet most of the time.