Lady Flyer, page 19
“What exactly happened?” Teddy asked in a subdued voice. “If you don’t mind my asking?”
“Nothing was covered up, if that’s what you mean.” Nancy didn’t mind clarifying. “The newspaper reports were accurate. Frank took off with a client, and the wind gusts weren’t accounted for. They struck telephone wires, and when they crashed, the plane caught fire. Neither of them had a chance.”
The women about the table shook their heads.
“The irony of it,” Nancy said thoughtfully, “is that through all the flying Frank did before—his daredevil stuff: setting speed records in racing—he was fine. He earned over 200 flying records.”
Teddy folded her hands atop the table. “He was certainly a legend. Loved the Hollywood scene too. Have you ever thought of working for Hollywood?”
Nancy reached for Bob’s hand, and he glanced at her, breaking from his conversation with Bud.
“Not for me.” Nancy shrugged. “And you?”
“Oh, heavens no.” Teddy flashed a wry smile. “I don’t do dives and snap rolls for entertainment. Flying is serious business for me. I’ve long thought female pilots shouldn’t be relegated to demo girls. No offense, Nancy.”
“None taken,” Nancy said.
Teddy leaned forward, her dark brows arched, her tone conspiratorial. “There’s no reason there can’t be women pilots in the military. We’ve proven time and time again that we can beat them in air races.”
The men’s conversation about them quieted as Teddy spoke.
“Racing isn’t for everyone though,” Nancy countered as a waiter set salads in front of everyone around the table. She reached for her fork. “Two were good enough for me. It’s not that I don’t like speed; I don’t like the idea of competing for it.”
Teddy’s nod was thoughtful as she picked up her own fork and speared a slice of tomato. “That’s my point exactly. Racing isn’t for everyone, and demonstrating private planes to potential buyers isn’t for everyone either. I think we need more options and variety. It’s like an entire population of skilled pilots is continually looked over. Last year when Roosevelt opened the Civilian Pilot Training Program on college campuses, it gave me hope.” She ate the tomato, then reached for the salt and pepper, liberally dousing the rest of her salad.
Nancy had heard of the CPT Program that provided pilot training for college students, although only one woman per ten men was allowed to enroll.
Bob took a couple of bites of his salad. He set his arm around the back of Nancy’s chair, his focus shifting to Teddy. “If women flew for the military, next thing you’d know is they’d be flying combat. No one wants that.”
Teddy sipped at her drink, then cocked her head. “Perhaps. Perhaps not.” She lifted a nonchalant shoulder. “But women can do many things for their country in the air forces, just like they do in England, France, Germany, and the Soviet Union, where women are trained and ready to help with any war efforts.”
“Ah,” Betty cut in. “You’re talking about the German-Soviet Nonaggression Pact that Hitler and Stalin signed.”
Nancy felt cold prickles along her arms, as if she’d rubbed pieces of ice on her skin. Newspapers had been screaming about Hitler’s planned invasion of Poland, and the Soviets weren’t protesting. In fact, Stalin had promised to help conquer and divide the nation. But Great Britain and France had promised Poland military support if the invasion should happen. It all had the makings of another world war.
Teddy looked at Bob. “You’re in the Air Corps Reserve, right, Bob?”
“Yes. I signed up in ’37 and accepted the commission as a second lieutenant.”
“What’s the commitment like?” Teddy pressed.
Nancy was surprised at Teddy’s persistence at all of this, but the more the woman talked, the more Nancy agreed.
“Two weeks of active duty each January.” Bob added more dressing to his salad, then took another bite.
“He’s mostly doing experimental flying and weather observation flights for the government,” Nancy added.
“No combat missions, and yet”—Teddy tapped her fingers on the table—“your work is helping to further the Air Corps Programs, correct?”
“Sure.” Bob moved his arm from the back of Nancy’s chair and pushed his salad plate aside to lean forward too. “What are you suggesting?”
Teddy’s sharp gaze pinned Bob. “Why shouldn’t the Army Air Corps employ female pilots? Do you think, say, your wife could do the same experimental flying that you do?”
“Of course,” Bob said without hesitation. “Might even be better. She’s very thorough.”
“That’s what I mean,” Teddy said. “Women can handle the noncombat jobs for the Army Air Corps. Things like ferrying planes and other duties that pertain to jobs on American soil.”
The conversation with Teddy Kenyon stayed with Nancy throughout the rest of the weekend. And continued to resonate for weeks after. On September 1, Hitler made good on his promises and invaded Poland from the west. Two days later, France and Britain declared war on Germany. Finally, on September 17, Soviet troops invaded Poland from the east.
Nancy and Bob watched it all unfold through the newspapers and listening to radio broadcasts.
“It’s unbelievable,” Betty said one night on the phone when Nancy called her. “Poland is pretty much in the hands of the Germans and Soviets. One of the Air Corps captains, William H. Tunner, is actively recruiting local pilots for the reserve. But my husband is talking about going to England and flying for the Royal Air Force.”
Nancy drew in a breath and sat at the scrubbed kitchen table. Bob knew Tunner too. But thankfully Bob hadn’t brought up flying with the RAFs, though she’d heard plenty of buzz from other pilots.
“Jacqueline Cochran told me she wrote a letter to Eleanor Roosevelt,” Betty continued.
“Personal friends now, huh?” Nancy said with a laugh. She knew Jackie Cochran only through Margaret Thomas’s association with her, and the Ninety-Nines group. Cochran was ambitiously pursuing any air races where women were allowed.
“Not exactly. You’ve heard how Cochran makes everything her business.”
“For better or for worse.” Nancy rose from the kitchen table and crossed to the window. She gazed out at the peaceful landscape that spread before their farmhouse. Peace and quiet was easily come by here—not so much in Poland.
“Cochran suggested that women pilots be utilized by the Army Air Corps during this time of unrest,” Betty said. “Flying ambulance planes, couriers, as well as commercial and transport planes.”
“Sounds like what Teddy’s been suggesting for a while,” Nancy mused.
“But Cochran went straight to the top because she’s pushing for militarizing women pilots.”
This made Nancy pause. “What was Mrs. Roosevelt’s reply?”
“She’s favorable,” Betty said, “although there’s a lot of organizing to do if something were to actually be implemented. But until then, as you and Teddy discussed, we can’t wait for an emergency to enact a plan if a plan isn’t already in place, and pilots aren’t already trained.”
“Exactly.” Nancy looked over at the kitchen counter, where she’d left the most recent newsletter of the Ninety-Nines. She thoroughly read it each month and knew the stats. “We have about 650 licensed female pilots in the nation.”
“That’s what Cochran pointed out too,” Betty said. “Proper training should begin well in advance.”
As Betty continued to talk, Nancy wondered what approach might truly be effective in training women pilots to qualify to work for the Army Air Corps. Maybe someone like Captain Tunner might have an idea? From everything Bob had told her about him, he was very active in the recruitment side of things.
Throughout the next weeks and months, the news coming from Europe became more grim. Nancy and Bob were in constant conversation about the happenings, as were all the other pilots they saw. Several of their male pilot friends headed over to England to join the RAFs.
Poland fell quickly, and Stalin’s forces were moving in on the Baltic States, the Russo-Finnish War in full swing. The British and German navies faced off as German U-boat submarines destroyed merchant ships heading for Britain. Over 100 vessels had been sunk.
In January 1940, the British ATA, organized at the beginning of the war, invited eight female pilots to join their Civilian Ferry Pilots Program. The ATA oversaw the transporting of all military aircraft from factories to maintenance units. They also delivered planes to transatlantic locations and active service squadrons. So far, the women pilots were allowed to fly only the Tiger Moth biplanes, but rumors were coming in that some of the women were training on bigger aircraft.
Betty was the first person Nancy called when she read the headlines while sitting in the cramped office of Inter City.
“It’s a new age,” Betty declared over the phone.
“Exactly.” Nancy stood to pace about the room, the phone cord dragging along with her. “The Attagirls are part of the war effort. Imagine. Female pilots aiding in the war effort for their country—using their hard-earned skills.” She paused. “We can do more. I can do more.”
“I agree—we can all do more,” Betty said. “Between you and Bob, you pretty much know everyone. More people than Jackie Cochran, I’m guessing.”
“Cochran’s primary focus is on militarizing female pilots, which is a long shot at this point, but I think we have a more immediate need that civilian pilots can help with.”
“What’s your plan, then, Love?” Betty asked, both amusement and excitement in her voice.
“Making phone calls, of course.”
Betty laughed. “Count me in. Whatever you do, I want to be a part of it.”
After hanging up with Betty, Nancy found Bob out in the hangar. He was wearing his grease-stained coveralls, working on one of the planes.
“Look at this.” She handed over the newspaper.
Bob straightened, his eyes flicking to her before he took the newspaper to read the headlines. “You’re not going over to England, are you?” She’d been married to this man for three and a half years, and sometimes, she swore he knew her better than she knew herself. The genuine concern in his voice warmed her all the way through. He was supportive of her aviation dreams, but going to another continent might put some friction in that support.
Nancy tilted her head. “I have a better idea.”
“What’s that?”
“We should be on the front lines, getting those planes out to our Allies.”
Bob’s nod was slow. Through Tunner, they’d learned that the United States was planning on sending planes over to Europe for war service. “There’s already talk of reserve pilots going into full combat training.”
“Which means the Army Air Corps needs the women to ferry,” she said. “What if I call your friend Lt. Colonel Robert Olds?” Not only was Lt. Colonel Olds one of Bob’s friends, but he also currently served as assistant to the chief of the Plans Division of the Air Corps. Olds had recently commanded a flight of seven B-17s to Brazil for the fiftieth anniversary of the Republic of Brazil. “He can only tell me no.”
“I think Lt. Colonel Olds is your best bet,” Bob said with a thoughtful expression. “Do you want me on the call too?”
“No, I’ve got this.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek, about the only spot where there wasn’t grease. “I’ll let you know what he says though.”
Heading back into the office, it took only a few minutes of waiting until Lt. Colonel Olds came on the line.
“Mrs. Love, great to hear from you,” Olds said into the phone. “How are you and Bob?”
“Swell—considering all that’s going on in Europe.” She paused. “Thank you for taking my call, sir. I don’t want to waste your time, so I’ll get straight to my proposal.” She ran through her ideas about women pilots ferrying planes into Canada that were bound for Europe. “The more female aviators helping out, the more men can be freed up for other training, such as combat.”
Olds listened to her speak without interruption, then finally asked, “How many women have commercial ratings?”
“About a hundred.”
“That many?” Olds sounded surprised. “How many of those are instrument rated?”
Nancy didn’t know the exact number. She herself wasn’t instrument rated, although she’d logged 825 flying hours. She told Olds this, and he simply said, “You’ll need to get rated too. Not that I can guarantee you’ll be ferrying sports planes or bombers anytime soon. This sort of thing is unprecedented in the United States, and there will be opposition. Warning you in advance.”
Nancy blew out a breath. “I understand, which is why we need to get started right away.”
Olds chuckled. “Send me a list of the women with commercial ratings, Mrs. Love, and any other qualifications you can think of. That list will be our starting point.”
Nancy was beaming when she hung up. She debated between starting her list right away or telling Bob the good news. Finally, Bob won out.
She would have hugged him fiercely, but she didn’t want to spend all night working out grease stains from her blouse.
As it was, she came up with 105 names after verifying with a few phone calls.
Betty Gillies was on that list, of course.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“With a Boston girl and three men pilots participating, 33 American sport planes destined for French war service yesterday were flown to the Canadian border in one of the first mass flights of its kind under US Neutrality Laws. The planes, piloted to the border town of Houlton, Maine, by a group of private pilots, were hauled across the international boundary by trucks—because the neutrality law prohibits their flying over—and then with the same pilots took off for Moncton, New Brunswick, and Halifax, Nova Scotia.”
—Boston Record
June 1940–July 1941—Boston
Nancy closed her eyes when Lt. Colonel Olds shared the bad news over the phone.
“General Hap Arnold turned down our proposal.”
The dread that had been churning her stomach all day had turned out to be a premonition. She’d been expecting Olds’s call, but she’d hoped it would be with good news. The man Olds had sent their proposal to was General Henry “Hap” Arnold, a highly decorated military general who had been named chief of staff of the Air Corps in 1938. Arnold was also in discussion with President Roosevelt about the weakness of US air power versus German air power.
“General Arnold did suggest that women could be used as copilots on commercial airliners,” Olds continued, his words filled with irony.
The same irony burned hot in Nancy’s chest because General Arnold’s words had become another barrier set up between women and male aviators. “That’s all well and good, but we want to help in the war effort. Does he not understand that? We’re ready and willing.”
“I agree. No one’s giving up here.”
“Thank you, sir.”
When she told Bob the news, he didn’t seem surprised. “There’s no reason to let this be swept out of sight though. You’re coming with me on a ferry mission. We’ll show that women are perfectly capable of completing such a mission.”
“To Canada?”
“Yes, we’re ferrying thirty-three sports planes to Maine, then we’ll have to truck them over the border because of the no-fly neutrality zone. Finally, we’ll fly the planes to the different ports.”
Nancy was 100 percent on board. “How are we getting back?”
“Steamer from Halifax to New York.”
She couldn’t stop her smile from escaping. “I’ll be ready.”
Bob grinned. “I’ve no doubt. Now, when are you going to get instrument rated?”
“Soon.”
The ferrying job ended up going nearly perfectly, although Nancy would have loved to be one of the pilots. They flew the sports planes to the border town of Houlton, Maine. The planes were loaded onto trucks and hauled across the international boundary. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police and Woodstock N.H. militiamen supervised the towing operation.
Once the entire operation was over, Bob and Nancy returned by steamer to New York.
But less than two weeks later, it seemed that their ferrying work was all for naught. France had just surrendered to the Germans, this on the heels of the mass evacuation of British soldiers from Dunkirk the week before.
Whatever concerns Nancy had about the war overseas, they were now elevated. “I can’t believe France is occupied,” she told Bob as they pored over the newspaper headlines together while sitting in their Inter City office. The sun had already set, and the hangar was deserted. “It’s hard to imagine Paris now under German control.”
Bob was on his third or fourth cup of coffee, his eyelids hooded, tired lines about his eyes. “This is going to send even more pilots over to England to join the RAFs.”
Nancy swallowed, her throat sour with the increasingly bad news. “I don’t blame them.” She didn’t ask Bob if he wanted to go because she was afraid of the answer. Right now, though, there was plenty to do at home to support the Allied war effort. It now felt that much more personal. Bob was currently on active duty with the Air Corps. Although his job was routine, that could change any day as the war progressed through the months of autumn.
When December rolled around, Nancy received a phone call from Betty. “Cochran’s still pushing.”
Nancy assumed this and added, “Colonel Olds is, too, but no luck yet. What did Cochran do?” That fall, Lieutenant Colonel Olds had been promoted to Colonel.
“She met with General Hap Arnold and Clayton Knight, who’s running the recruiting for the British Ferry Command.”
Nancy motioned to Bob, who was sitting in the living room, reading the newspaper as the fading winter light slipped from the windows. He walked into the kitchen and sat next to her at the table. Leaning close, he listened to both sides of the conversation.
