Lady Flyer, page 17
“Now I’m going South and then West to survey the marking that’s been done. What’s next? I suppose I’ll keep doing what I’m doing now. It’s such fun. And safer than automobiles, really. You can make a mistake of 1,000 feet in the air and correct the mistake, but make a mistake of a single foot on the highway and you’ll smash into a telephone pole. . . . It’s quite easy to fly this plane.”
—Nancy Love, Boston Traveler
August–September 1936—Inter City, Boston
“No, Mother, we’re not pregnant yet.” Nancy hid her exasperated sigh as they chatted on the phone during their regular Sunday night call. Nancy had been married eight months, and yes, many new brides became pregnant in the first year of marriage, but she wasn’t going to fret over her situation; her mother was doing that for her.
Bob hadn’t seemed too worried either. He’d only said they had plenty of time and would be married for many years to come, so what was the rush?
Just because her mother had pointed out that all other young, married couples were starting their families.
Her mother’s next statement was no surprise either. “Maybe you should slow down. You’re always up in the air someplace, and Bob works all hours.”
Yes, they were busy. Nancy was flying demos, hopping passengers, and staying useful at Inter City. Bob was constantly either on business calls or ferrying planes around.
“We’re together most of the time, day and night, Mother. You don’t have to worry so much. Children will come when they come.” Privately, she’d wondered if something were medically wrong with her, but if she and Bob got antsy, she could consult with a doctor. Right now, though, her mother was the only one pushing for it.
“But you aren’t opposed to them?” Hope laced her mother’s voice. “You aren’t trying to prevent them?”
Nancy should be used to this, but tonight, she was tired from a busy week, and her mother’s questions were feeling more intrusive than usual. “Like you’ve pointed out many times, I’m still very young. I think we have time.”
Her mother’s silence stretched, and a prickle of guilt moved through Nancy. Time was a crux for all of them. No one had had enough time with her brother. Her parents were getting older. Besides, Nancy wasn’t opposed to getting pregnant. It simply hadn’t happened.
Bob walked into the kitchen, where she sat at the table. He’d probably overheard her end of the conversation and the stress in her voice. He paused behind her and set his hands on her shoulders, then rubbed gently.
The tension began to ease. “Mother, I’m sorry to be so short with you. It’s been a long week.”
“Well, I understand that sometimes these things take time,” Mother conceded, but her voice had stiffened again. “I hope you have a good week.”
“You too. I’ll call next Sunday.”
After they hung up, Nancy put her hand on Bob’s. “Don’t stop.”
He continued rubbing her shoulders, then leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “Your mother’s talking about babies again?”
“Yes, but I think it’s more . . .” She paused.
“What could be more than babies?” he asked, sounding amused.
Nancy rose from her chair and turned to face him. “I think she’s becoming a recluse. Father said she’s not going to her regular activities.”
“Ah, so she’s focusing on your life instead.”
“Yes, I mean, I am an only child now.”
Bob drew her close. “We could go visit in the next couple of weeks.”
“That would be great.” They’d settled down outside of Boston at Trapelo Farm in Waltham, so visits home weren’t as often as her parents would like them to be. “You’re kind of a great husband.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You’re just figuring that out?”
“I’ve known it for a while, but I didn’t want your ego to get too inflated.”
With a laugh, Bob slid his arms behind her. “A little ego inflation never hurt any man.”
“Ha.” She kissed him. “Maybe not you since you’re one of the good ones.”
Bob’s smile was brief. “Which is why we need to talk about Pappy’s telegram from earlier today. Have you thought more about it?”
Nancy stepped out of his arms and picked up the telegram sitting in the middle of the kitchen table. William A. Ong had written to her—they called him Pappy—about the Bendix Race. Louise Thaden was searching for a copilot.
Suggest you contact Louise Thaden by telegraph—she will be at the factory tomorrow—and ask to go as copilot in Bendix Race flying Four Twenty Beechcraft. I think you would be of great assistance and it would be a fine experience for you. Hope to see you in Los Angeles.
Bill Ong
She set the telegram down again. “I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you know?” Bob asked with genuine curiosity. “Because of the racing aspect? You’re as good a flyer as any of the other women.”
Nancy lifted her gaze to meet his direct one. “I don’t know if racing is my thing, even if I would win money. If anyone is going to race, it should be you, cowboy.”
Bob touched her chin. “Well, I’m not the one who was invited. If you want to join Louise, then do it, but only do it because you want to. Not for anyone else.”
“Well, I am tempted.”
He nodded. “Thought so.”
She slipped her hand into his. “Like I said, you’re a great husband. Not many men would want their wives racing across the skies in a small plane.”
“I’m not going to hold you back on anything you want to do.”
She grinned at him. “Just don’t tell Mother until after the fact.”
“Deal.”
The very next day, Nancy telegraphed Louise at the Beechcraft factory. Louise’s reply came back within the hour, and Nancy went to find Bob out in the hangar at Inter City.
“It’s off.” She held out the telegraph.
Bob turned from where he was speaking to a mechanic. “The race?”
“No. Louise has a copilot already. She asked Blanche Noyes.”
Bob took the telegraph and scanned through it. After a moment, his gaze connected with hers. “There are more races.”
He knew. How he knew, she wasn’t sure. She hadn’t even known herself until she’d received the reply from Louise. Nancy did want to race. At least once. Try it out. Maybe it was for her; maybe it wasn’t. But money could be made, and she was very curious to see how her skills might match up to other women pilots’.
“You’re right, there are more races,” Nancy said slowly. “Pappy wrote again.”
Bob’s eyes sparked as he read the next telegram from Bill Ong.
Sorry about Bendix but will enter you in the Amelia Earhart Race flying Jacobs Beechcraft if you will accept. This event is handicapped close-course race, and I think you will have excellent chance. Wire me immediately . . . Have beautiful ship here now which I could deliver to you folks at once and you could race this ship if you desire. Don’t let us down and tell Bob we won’t kidnap you even though we might like to.
Bill Ong
“No one’s going to kidnap you,” Bob said, looking up from the telegram. “I’m coming too.”
Nancy’s brows shot up. “You think I should do it?”
He didn’t answer, just waited.
“All right. I want to do it.” She threw her arms about his neck. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
Bob’s laugh warmed her through. “Go write back to Pappy. Let him know we’ve got room for that new Beechcraft.”
Plans came together quickly, and a few days later, she and Bob took turns between pilot and copilot as they flew across the country to make it to the National Air Races in Los Angeles. Pappy had entered her into the Amelia Earhart Trophy Race, which was a handicap pylon race of flying a triangular course against other planes.
Nancy had expected to be nervous, but it was also thrilling. On the day of the race, her pulse thrummed as she waited for the starter’s flag to go up. She’d kept the throttle on her plane wide open while at the same time pressing her heels on the brakes.
The instant the flag went down, her adrenaline spiked, and she tried to keep her focus on a steady takeoff. It was almost impossible not to pay attention to the other planes around her as she took the first turn, tipping her left wing to make the maneuver smooth. Another plane was already ahead of her, but she didn’t expect first place. She didn’t want to be last either. Lap after lap, she repeated the turns, trying not to ease up on speed too much. She passed a plane, then another passed her, like they were playing cat and mouse, although she wasn’t sure who the cat was and who the mouse was.
Another plane edged ahead of her, and she had to move to take the outside of the next turn. Her eyes stung with sweat, and her wrist ached from working the throttle. Finally, she crossed the final marker, and she pulled the plane up to coast in the sky for a few moments before finally landing.
She hadn’t won, but she hadn’t been last either.
The first person she searched for was Bob.
He reached her within minutes of her landing. “Fifth place,” Bob said, sweeping her into his arms. She was dizzy, not from flying but from the race. “Hot dog, sweetheart! You even won seventy-five dollars.”
She was still breathless and needed to wash off all the perspiration, but she laughed. “I guess I’m paying for dinner?”
“Definitely,” Bob said, then kissed her soundly.
Others came to congratulate her, and while it was exhilarating to have placed fifth in her very first race, her mind was already on the next race she’d entered. The Women’s Air Race in Detroit on September 20. She’d be flying a Monocoupe, and she wanted to get more practice on that plane.
A couple of days after she and Bob returned to Inter City, Louise Thaden and Blanche Noyes won the Bendix—a 2,500-mile race from Bennett Field in New York to Mines Field in Los Angeles.
Nancy and Bob both pored over the newspaper articles about the victory of the female pilots. “Four hours and fifty-five minutes of flying time. Imagine!” Nancy mused.
“They’ll be going down in the history and record books,” Bob said. “The first women pilot team to win the Bendix, beating out everyone.”
“Impressive.” Nancy regretted not being the copilot of the race, but nothing could be changed now. Maybe someday . . . ?
“Ready to get more flying hours on the Monocoupe?” Bob asked.
“Sure, but there’s no way to really train for speed unless we want to set up pylons.”
“You can use landmarks as pinpoints.”
That was Nancy’s only real option. She reached for the helmet she’d set on the edge of the desk and pulled it on. Then she tugged on her goggles, keeping them on her forehead for now. Bob walked with her out of the hangar and to the plane. He inspected a few things while she did her precheck. She knew she spent more time than most, but she never regretted it.
“Ready?” Bob asked when she finally came back around the plane.
“Ready.”
He kissed her softly. “Go get ’em.”
“Be back soon.” She climbed into the cockpit. Closed the door. Pulled on her goggles. Started the engine. The propeller gained speed. She was off, down the runway. As she lifted into the air, her stomach tightened in its familiar way. She flew her training route, increasing her speed with each pass of her designated landmarks.
The race was coming up quickly, and she wanted to be ready, but she also didn’t want to waste time and fuel, not at Inter City’s expense, which was also her expense now. So, she did the route only a few times before she ended for the day.
She practiced every day until September 20 arrived, and Nancy hoped she was ready. She got to the Wayne County Airport an hour before most of the other racers. She wanted to oversee the fuel being put into her plane to make sure it was the best quality offered. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the mechanics, but a woman could never be too careful.
At the start of the race, her heart began its familiar pound. She might have raced before, but her pulse seemed to have forgotten. She felt better, though, stronger and more confident. Mostly, it was thrilling, but once the race got underway, it was basically a free-for-all. No one had to prove qualifications to fly in the race, and at least two of the pilots had mechanical issues and were forced to land early.
“Second place!” Bob called out the moment she opened the plane door.
She already knew that, but it was nice to hear it confirmed. Photographers rushed to her plane and snapped photos as she climbed out. She lifted up her goggles and did a quick pose before hugging Bob.
“That was incredible,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll admit, my heart rate was going crazy.”
“My heart almost stopped a few times,” Nancy teased, but there was also truth behind those words. She hadn’t liked feeling pressured to keep going fast even when she hadn’t been sure that she was in full control of her plane.
Congratulations came from race officials, other pilots, and onlookers. They stuck around the rest of the day, watching other races. It was like a minireunion with pilots she’d known for a long time as well as ones she’d met more recently at the Amelia Earhart Trophy Race.
When they made it back to their hotel room, Bob asked, “What do you need? Wine? A bath? Sleep?”
“All of it.” Nancy was dog-tired, so she decided to let Bob spoil her tonight. Well, he always did that. “I guess I’d better call my folks first. Let them know the results.”
After the phone call in which Nancy spoke only to her father, she turned to Bob. “As fun as that was, I don’t think racing is my thing.”
“You placed second, Nancy. That’s nothing to sniff at.”
“That’s not what I mean.” She sat on the corner of the bed. “It’s so chaotic. Not that I think racing should be smooth sailing, but once we all took off, it felt like a dogfight. The tension wasn’t enjoyable for me. I mean, I love flying, and flying fast is fun, but I’m not flying to prove anything to anyone. I fly because I love it.”
Bob crossed to sit by her, taking her hand. “Did your father say something to you?”
“No, he was excited about the results.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “You know me. I have to arrive an hour early to do my long precheck. I don’t like racing against others who haven’t been as thorough and only care about pushing their aircraft to the absolute limits. Even if it’s dangerous. I’m not a cowboy pilot like you.”
Bob tightened his hold on her hand. “You’ve got flying skills that all those women and men envy, Nancy.”
“Maybe.” She lifted her chin. “But that was my last race.”
Chapter Twenty
“If her last flight was into eternity, one can mourn her loss but not regret her effort. Amelia did not lose, for her last flight was endless. Like in a relay race of progress she had merely placed the torch in the hands of others to carry on to the next goal and from there on and on forever.”
—Jacqueline Cochran, quoted in Those Wonderful Women in Their Flying Machines by Sally Van Wagenen Keil
March–September 1937—Boston
“It cruises at about ninety-five miles an hour,” Nancy told the group of scribbling reporters, their hats pushed back, collars open, ties dangling as the unseasonably hot day grew hotter. “Her limit is 112, and she stops within 100 feet after touching the ground.”
Nancy leaned against the wing of the Stearman-Hammond Y plane, the star aircraft of the day. The Hammond Y was a tricycle-gear aircraft and had won the design competition at the Department of Commerce, and Nancy had been hired to fly and demonstrate the plane to show off how safe it was to fly. The only downside was that Bob had to remain behind to run Inter City.
“How safe is the Hammond compared to other planes?” one of the reporters asked, cigarette dangling.
“Safer than an automobile, and that’s all that matters,” Nancy said with a coy smile. “You can make a mistake a thousand feet in the air and correct the mistake, but make a mistake of a single foot on the highway and you’ll smash into a telephone pole.”
The reporters chuckled.
She surveyed the men in front of her. “Anyone want a demo ride? I’ll let you take over the controls for a bit.”
The reporters glanced at each other, some with surprised looks on their faces, others with doubtful expressions. Finally, one man, sporting a scant blond mustache, lifted a hand. “I’ll go up with you, Mrs. Love.”
“Excellent.” She reached into the plane and handed over an extra helmet and goggles.
“Right now?” the man asked.
“Is there a better time?”
Everyone laughed, and the reporter’s face flushed. He took the helmet and goggles, and soon, they were taking off. Circling the airport, Nancy explained the basic controls of the aircraft, then said, “All right, you’re on the controls. Just follow what I say.”
The man’s face had paled, but he gamely took over. Nancy gave him a few more instructions and corrections, but he was flying the plane. As they prepared to land, she took over again, but he was beaming with his accomplishment.
“Did I dream all of that?” he asked, his voice one pitch higher.
Nancy smiled, knowing exactly how he felt. “It can be surreal, but I assure you, sir, that you did, indeed, fly this plane.”
When her father called the next day, they both exclaimed over the article printed in the Christian Science Monitor. “The reporter was really bowled over by the experience,” he said.
“He was pretty nervous, but he loved it,” Nancy mused, remembering the fair-haired reporter’s astonishment.
“What’s next? Continuing the demos?”
“No. Tomorrow I’m back in my own plane and heading to meet with officials throughout Maine to continue pitching the Airmarking Program.” Nancy had recently signed on with the Airmarking Program again. “This time, though, I’ll get reimbursed for flying my own private plane.”
—Nancy Love, Boston Traveler
August–September 1936—Inter City, Boston
“No, Mother, we’re not pregnant yet.” Nancy hid her exasperated sigh as they chatted on the phone during their regular Sunday night call. Nancy had been married eight months, and yes, many new brides became pregnant in the first year of marriage, but she wasn’t going to fret over her situation; her mother was doing that for her.
Bob hadn’t seemed too worried either. He’d only said they had plenty of time and would be married for many years to come, so what was the rush?
Just because her mother had pointed out that all other young, married couples were starting their families.
Her mother’s next statement was no surprise either. “Maybe you should slow down. You’re always up in the air someplace, and Bob works all hours.”
Yes, they were busy. Nancy was flying demos, hopping passengers, and staying useful at Inter City. Bob was constantly either on business calls or ferrying planes around.
“We’re together most of the time, day and night, Mother. You don’t have to worry so much. Children will come when they come.” Privately, she’d wondered if something were medically wrong with her, but if she and Bob got antsy, she could consult with a doctor. Right now, though, her mother was the only one pushing for it.
“But you aren’t opposed to them?” Hope laced her mother’s voice. “You aren’t trying to prevent them?”
Nancy should be used to this, but tonight, she was tired from a busy week, and her mother’s questions were feeling more intrusive than usual. “Like you’ve pointed out many times, I’m still very young. I think we have time.”
Her mother’s silence stretched, and a prickle of guilt moved through Nancy. Time was a crux for all of them. No one had had enough time with her brother. Her parents were getting older. Besides, Nancy wasn’t opposed to getting pregnant. It simply hadn’t happened.
Bob walked into the kitchen, where she sat at the table. He’d probably overheard her end of the conversation and the stress in her voice. He paused behind her and set his hands on her shoulders, then rubbed gently.
The tension began to ease. “Mother, I’m sorry to be so short with you. It’s been a long week.”
“Well, I understand that sometimes these things take time,” Mother conceded, but her voice had stiffened again. “I hope you have a good week.”
“You too. I’ll call next Sunday.”
After they hung up, Nancy put her hand on Bob’s. “Don’t stop.”
He continued rubbing her shoulders, then leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “Your mother’s talking about babies again?”
“Yes, but I think it’s more . . .” She paused.
“What could be more than babies?” he asked, sounding amused.
Nancy rose from her chair and turned to face him. “I think she’s becoming a recluse. Father said she’s not going to her regular activities.”
“Ah, so she’s focusing on your life instead.”
“Yes, I mean, I am an only child now.”
Bob drew her close. “We could go visit in the next couple of weeks.”
“That would be great.” They’d settled down outside of Boston at Trapelo Farm in Waltham, so visits home weren’t as often as her parents would like them to be. “You’re kind of a great husband.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You’re just figuring that out?”
“I’ve known it for a while, but I didn’t want your ego to get too inflated.”
With a laugh, Bob slid his arms behind her. “A little ego inflation never hurt any man.”
“Ha.” She kissed him. “Maybe not you since you’re one of the good ones.”
Bob’s smile was brief. “Which is why we need to talk about Pappy’s telegram from earlier today. Have you thought more about it?”
Nancy stepped out of his arms and picked up the telegram sitting in the middle of the kitchen table. William A. Ong had written to her—they called him Pappy—about the Bendix Race. Louise Thaden was searching for a copilot.
Suggest you contact Louise Thaden by telegraph—she will be at the factory tomorrow—and ask to go as copilot in Bendix Race flying Four Twenty Beechcraft. I think you would be of great assistance and it would be a fine experience for you. Hope to see you in Los Angeles.
Bill Ong
She set the telegram down again. “I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you know?” Bob asked with genuine curiosity. “Because of the racing aspect? You’re as good a flyer as any of the other women.”
Nancy lifted her gaze to meet his direct one. “I don’t know if racing is my thing, even if I would win money. If anyone is going to race, it should be you, cowboy.”
Bob touched her chin. “Well, I’m not the one who was invited. If you want to join Louise, then do it, but only do it because you want to. Not for anyone else.”
“Well, I am tempted.”
He nodded. “Thought so.”
She slipped her hand into his. “Like I said, you’re a great husband. Not many men would want their wives racing across the skies in a small plane.”
“I’m not going to hold you back on anything you want to do.”
She grinned at him. “Just don’t tell Mother until after the fact.”
“Deal.”
The very next day, Nancy telegraphed Louise at the Beechcraft factory. Louise’s reply came back within the hour, and Nancy went to find Bob out in the hangar at Inter City.
“It’s off.” She held out the telegraph.
Bob turned from where he was speaking to a mechanic. “The race?”
“No. Louise has a copilot already. She asked Blanche Noyes.”
Bob took the telegraph and scanned through it. After a moment, his gaze connected with hers. “There are more races.”
He knew. How he knew, she wasn’t sure. She hadn’t even known herself until she’d received the reply from Louise. Nancy did want to race. At least once. Try it out. Maybe it was for her; maybe it wasn’t. But money could be made, and she was very curious to see how her skills might match up to other women pilots’.
“You’re right, there are more races,” Nancy said slowly. “Pappy wrote again.”
Bob’s eyes sparked as he read the next telegram from Bill Ong.
Sorry about Bendix but will enter you in the Amelia Earhart Race flying Jacobs Beechcraft if you will accept. This event is handicapped close-course race, and I think you will have excellent chance. Wire me immediately . . . Have beautiful ship here now which I could deliver to you folks at once and you could race this ship if you desire. Don’t let us down and tell Bob we won’t kidnap you even though we might like to.
Bill Ong
“No one’s going to kidnap you,” Bob said, looking up from the telegram. “I’m coming too.”
Nancy’s brows shot up. “You think I should do it?”
He didn’t answer, just waited.
“All right. I want to do it.” She threw her arms about his neck. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
Bob’s laugh warmed her through. “Go write back to Pappy. Let him know we’ve got room for that new Beechcraft.”
Plans came together quickly, and a few days later, she and Bob took turns between pilot and copilot as they flew across the country to make it to the National Air Races in Los Angeles. Pappy had entered her into the Amelia Earhart Trophy Race, which was a handicap pylon race of flying a triangular course against other planes.
Nancy had expected to be nervous, but it was also thrilling. On the day of the race, her pulse thrummed as she waited for the starter’s flag to go up. She’d kept the throttle on her plane wide open while at the same time pressing her heels on the brakes.
The instant the flag went down, her adrenaline spiked, and she tried to keep her focus on a steady takeoff. It was almost impossible not to pay attention to the other planes around her as she took the first turn, tipping her left wing to make the maneuver smooth. Another plane was already ahead of her, but she didn’t expect first place. She didn’t want to be last either. Lap after lap, she repeated the turns, trying not to ease up on speed too much. She passed a plane, then another passed her, like they were playing cat and mouse, although she wasn’t sure who the cat was and who the mouse was.
Another plane edged ahead of her, and she had to move to take the outside of the next turn. Her eyes stung with sweat, and her wrist ached from working the throttle. Finally, she crossed the final marker, and she pulled the plane up to coast in the sky for a few moments before finally landing.
She hadn’t won, but she hadn’t been last either.
The first person she searched for was Bob.
He reached her within minutes of her landing. “Fifth place,” Bob said, sweeping her into his arms. She was dizzy, not from flying but from the race. “Hot dog, sweetheart! You even won seventy-five dollars.”
She was still breathless and needed to wash off all the perspiration, but she laughed. “I guess I’m paying for dinner?”
“Definitely,” Bob said, then kissed her soundly.
Others came to congratulate her, and while it was exhilarating to have placed fifth in her very first race, her mind was already on the next race she’d entered. The Women’s Air Race in Detroit on September 20. She’d be flying a Monocoupe, and she wanted to get more practice on that plane.
A couple of days after she and Bob returned to Inter City, Louise Thaden and Blanche Noyes won the Bendix—a 2,500-mile race from Bennett Field in New York to Mines Field in Los Angeles.
Nancy and Bob both pored over the newspaper articles about the victory of the female pilots. “Four hours and fifty-five minutes of flying time. Imagine!” Nancy mused.
“They’ll be going down in the history and record books,” Bob said. “The first women pilot team to win the Bendix, beating out everyone.”
“Impressive.” Nancy regretted not being the copilot of the race, but nothing could be changed now. Maybe someday . . . ?
“Ready to get more flying hours on the Monocoupe?” Bob asked.
“Sure, but there’s no way to really train for speed unless we want to set up pylons.”
“You can use landmarks as pinpoints.”
That was Nancy’s only real option. She reached for the helmet she’d set on the edge of the desk and pulled it on. Then she tugged on her goggles, keeping them on her forehead for now. Bob walked with her out of the hangar and to the plane. He inspected a few things while she did her precheck. She knew she spent more time than most, but she never regretted it.
“Ready?” Bob asked when she finally came back around the plane.
“Ready.”
He kissed her softly. “Go get ’em.”
“Be back soon.” She climbed into the cockpit. Closed the door. Pulled on her goggles. Started the engine. The propeller gained speed. She was off, down the runway. As she lifted into the air, her stomach tightened in its familiar way. She flew her training route, increasing her speed with each pass of her designated landmarks.
The race was coming up quickly, and she wanted to be ready, but she also didn’t want to waste time and fuel, not at Inter City’s expense, which was also her expense now. So, she did the route only a few times before she ended for the day.
She practiced every day until September 20 arrived, and Nancy hoped she was ready. She got to the Wayne County Airport an hour before most of the other racers. She wanted to oversee the fuel being put into her plane to make sure it was the best quality offered. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the mechanics, but a woman could never be too careful.
At the start of the race, her heart began its familiar pound. She might have raced before, but her pulse seemed to have forgotten. She felt better, though, stronger and more confident. Mostly, it was thrilling, but once the race got underway, it was basically a free-for-all. No one had to prove qualifications to fly in the race, and at least two of the pilots had mechanical issues and were forced to land early.
“Second place!” Bob called out the moment she opened the plane door.
She already knew that, but it was nice to hear it confirmed. Photographers rushed to her plane and snapped photos as she climbed out. She lifted up her goggles and did a quick pose before hugging Bob.
“That was incredible,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll admit, my heart rate was going crazy.”
“My heart almost stopped a few times,” Nancy teased, but there was also truth behind those words. She hadn’t liked feeling pressured to keep going fast even when she hadn’t been sure that she was in full control of her plane.
Congratulations came from race officials, other pilots, and onlookers. They stuck around the rest of the day, watching other races. It was like a minireunion with pilots she’d known for a long time as well as ones she’d met more recently at the Amelia Earhart Trophy Race.
When they made it back to their hotel room, Bob asked, “What do you need? Wine? A bath? Sleep?”
“All of it.” Nancy was dog-tired, so she decided to let Bob spoil her tonight. Well, he always did that. “I guess I’d better call my folks first. Let them know the results.”
After the phone call in which Nancy spoke only to her father, she turned to Bob. “As fun as that was, I don’t think racing is my thing.”
“You placed second, Nancy. That’s nothing to sniff at.”
“That’s not what I mean.” She sat on the corner of the bed. “It’s so chaotic. Not that I think racing should be smooth sailing, but once we all took off, it felt like a dogfight. The tension wasn’t enjoyable for me. I mean, I love flying, and flying fast is fun, but I’m not flying to prove anything to anyone. I fly because I love it.”
Bob crossed to sit by her, taking her hand. “Did your father say something to you?”
“No, he was excited about the results.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “You know me. I have to arrive an hour early to do my long precheck. I don’t like racing against others who haven’t been as thorough and only care about pushing their aircraft to the absolute limits. Even if it’s dangerous. I’m not a cowboy pilot like you.”
Bob tightened his hold on her hand. “You’ve got flying skills that all those women and men envy, Nancy.”
“Maybe.” She lifted her chin. “But that was my last race.”
Chapter Twenty
“If her last flight was into eternity, one can mourn her loss but not regret her effort. Amelia did not lose, for her last flight was endless. Like in a relay race of progress she had merely placed the torch in the hands of others to carry on to the next goal and from there on and on forever.”
—Jacqueline Cochran, quoted in Those Wonderful Women in Their Flying Machines by Sally Van Wagenen Keil
March–September 1937—Boston
“It cruises at about ninety-five miles an hour,” Nancy told the group of scribbling reporters, their hats pushed back, collars open, ties dangling as the unseasonably hot day grew hotter. “Her limit is 112, and she stops within 100 feet after touching the ground.”
Nancy leaned against the wing of the Stearman-Hammond Y plane, the star aircraft of the day. The Hammond Y was a tricycle-gear aircraft and had won the design competition at the Department of Commerce, and Nancy had been hired to fly and demonstrate the plane to show off how safe it was to fly. The only downside was that Bob had to remain behind to run Inter City.
“How safe is the Hammond compared to other planes?” one of the reporters asked, cigarette dangling.
“Safer than an automobile, and that’s all that matters,” Nancy said with a coy smile. “You can make a mistake a thousand feet in the air and correct the mistake, but make a mistake of a single foot on the highway and you’ll smash into a telephone pole.”
The reporters chuckled.
She surveyed the men in front of her. “Anyone want a demo ride? I’ll let you take over the controls for a bit.”
The reporters glanced at each other, some with surprised looks on their faces, others with doubtful expressions. Finally, one man, sporting a scant blond mustache, lifted a hand. “I’ll go up with you, Mrs. Love.”
“Excellent.” She reached into the plane and handed over an extra helmet and goggles.
“Right now?” the man asked.
“Is there a better time?”
Everyone laughed, and the reporter’s face flushed. He took the helmet and goggles, and soon, they were taking off. Circling the airport, Nancy explained the basic controls of the aircraft, then said, “All right, you’re on the controls. Just follow what I say.”
The man’s face had paled, but he gamely took over. Nancy gave him a few more instructions and corrections, but he was flying the plane. As they prepared to land, she took over again, but he was beaming with his accomplishment.
“Did I dream all of that?” he asked, his voice one pitch higher.
Nancy smiled, knowing exactly how he felt. “It can be surreal, but I assure you, sir, that you did, indeed, fly this plane.”
When her father called the next day, they both exclaimed over the article printed in the Christian Science Monitor. “The reporter was really bowled over by the experience,” he said.
“He was pretty nervous, but he loved it,” Nancy mused, remembering the fair-haired reporter’s astonishment.
“What’s next? Continuing the demos?”
“No. Tomorrow I’m back in my own plane and heading to meet with officials throughout Maine to continue pitching the Airmarking Program.” Nancy had recently signed on with the Airmarking Program again. “This time, though, I’ll get reimbursed for flying my own private plane.”
