Lady Flyer, page 39
Clara Jo Marsh, staff executive at the headquarters of the Eastern Flying Training Command, had asked Nancy for a roster of the women in the Ferrying Division. Clara Jo wanted to keep the WASP women in contact and include them at the ATC WASP.
“When’s your last flight as a WASP?” Betty asked tentatively. Gently.
“Two weeks.” Nancy’s eyes burned. It felt surreal to speak the words aloud. “Bea Medes and I will be picking up a C-54B from the Douglas plant in Chicago and delivering it to the West Coast.”
“Excellent,” Betty murmured. “Did you see Nowland’s report on our numbers? By December 20, the WASP will have delivered 12,652 aircraft. That’s three-fifths of all planes coming off the assembly line.”
“And now the WASP are being disbanded.” Nancy hated that she couldn’t keep the dejection out of her voice, but Betty was her best friend and could read her like a map.
“We’ll get through this somehow,” Betty said when Nancy was usually the one with the pep talks.
After hanging up, Nancy felt reassured. It wasn’t just her losing all that she’d built up; it was every woman in the WASP. They would forge ahead together, just as Betty had said.
The next two weeks felt surreal, and at the end of it, Nancy found herself standing in their tiny apartment kitchen while Bob made coffee. She was about to head out on her final flight for the WASP.
“Sugar today?” Bob asked, pouring coffee into two mugs.
“Two, please.” Nancy leaned against the counter, watching her husband. The last few weeks hadn’t been easy, and she knew she’d been quieter than usual. Thinking, processing, grieving. Yet Bob had been Bob through it all. Always taking care of her. Willing to listen to her complaining or ranting, day or night. He really couldn’t get away from it now that they were living together again.
He wore his shirt sleeves, not quite dressed in full uniform this early in the morning. As he stirred two teaspoons of sugar into her mug, Nancy felt her eyes well with tears. Again. It was a daily thing now. Maybe once she flew her final mission, the tears would be easier to hold back.
“Here you are.” Bob turned and held out the mug.
She accepted it gratefully and took a careful sip, although her heart was hammering and her fingers trembling.
Bob noticed. Of course he did.
He stepped close and took the mug again, setting it on the counter, then pulled her into his arms. “It’s going to be all right, sweetie,” he murmured against her hair.
For a moment, she breathed in the clean cotton smell of his shirt, felt the warmth of his skin, and found comfort in the steady thump of his heart. “Sometimes I think I’m sleepwalking. Is this all really happening? Are the WASP really disbanded?”
Bob’s hand moved across her back. “It’s really happening, but there’s nothing for you or any of the women to regret. You’ve served your country so very well. Without you, the tide of the war wouldn’t have changed so soon. Women working in the manufacturing plants, women mechanics building war planes, women delivering the planes to the air bases . . . You were the backbone.”
Nancy wanted to take solace in her husband’s words. They felt true on an intellectual level, but her heart still ached.
Eventually, she extracted herself from her husband’s arms, finished her coffee, and made it to the base. Although her emotions felt numb, her brain was sharp as she did her flight precheck.
Her final flight as a WASP pilot was bittersweet, yet the two-day flight in the C-54B #42-72389 with Bea Medes as copilot was smoother than a summer pond. They didn’t encounter any bad weather or mechanical problems.
Other Originals were also taking their final flights. B.J. Erickson’s final flight was in a P-61 that she’d qualified on with other female pilots earlier that fall. She delivered the P-61 to Sacramento, then was taken by military transport to Long Beach.
“There are sixty-six new P-51 Mustangs at Long Beach,” B.J. told Nancy over the phone on December 19—the final night before disbandment. “Brand-new, waiting to be delivered, but there aren’t enough male ferry pilots to get them delivered in a timely manner. So, the P-51s are sitting there.”
“That’s happening all over,” Nancy said. “Farmingdale, Buffalo, Niagara, Evansville, Dallas . . . We have 133 women who can fly pursuits, and all of them are going home tomorrow. I wish you were here at Wilmington with us for ‘the last supper.’”
“Wait one more day?”
“I would if we could—tomorrow we’re all clocking out.”
Nancy was both looking forward to and dreading the final meal she’d organized with a smaller group—seven of the Originals, plus the rest of the ladies who served in the 2nd Ferrying Group at the New Castle Army Air Base. Where it all began.
When Nancy walked into the officers’ club, Betty greeted her, decked out in her WASP uniform.
“You’re over here, ma’am,” Betty said with a smile.
“In the center at the head table?”
“Of course—you brought us all together, so that’s where you belong.”
Nancy shook her head, but she was smiling. She took her seat at the long table next to Betty. On the right, Nancy Batson, Helen McGilvery, and Gertrude Meserve Tubbs filled in the chairs. To the left sat Helen Mary Clark, Teresa James, and Sis Bernheim. And on down the line, the other women filled in the seats.
“I guess I’m giving the first toast?” Nancy asked, raising her glass.
The other women all laughed.
“I’d like to recognize the three Originals who are missing tonight . . . Cornelia Fort, Dorothy Scott, and Evelyn Sharp.” Everyone in the room sobered. “And acknowledge the other thirty-five WASP killed in service to their country, most recently Mary Webster, who died on a UC-78 as a passenger on December 9. May we always honor their memories.”
The women raised their glasses.
Other toasts were made, becoming longer and longer. Memories shared. Jokes told. Tears shed.
Nancy didn’t know how long they’d been there, but she was in no hurry, not anymore. Tomorrow, she’d wake up unemployed.
“You should sleep with us in the BOQ 14 tonight,” Betty teased, “for old times.”
“I think I will.” Nancy held up her wine glass. “I had one too many of these. The food was delicious though.”
Nancy headed with the other women to their barracks, arm in arm, laughing at nothing. The barracks had been gussied up and decorated over the last two years, but even that couldn’t disguise the stark living conditions. None of them had minded the simplicity though—they’d been happy to serve.
After Nancy and Betty had both changed into their night clothes, Nancy wandered the small space of Betty’s room as Betty took down personal photos from the walls and packed them up.
“Remember this?” Betty said, holding out a photograph of the two of them standing in front of the B-17 Flying Fortress.
Nancy’s heart hitched. “That’s one of my all-time favorite photos of us.” She paused. “I have something to tell you—but you must swear to secrecy.”
Betty’s brows shot up. “Of course. You know I’m like a vault.”
“Over the past month, General Smith has been working on securing me a foreign mission.”
Betty sat on the edge of her bed, her eyes wide. “Do tell, Mrs. Love.”
Nancy settled across from her. “Despite General Arnold’s stern command that as of tomorrow, no women will be allowed to fly for the AAF in any capacity, General Smith has written to General Tunner in Calcutta. They want me to fly the Hump and submit a report of my findings on what can be improved.”
Betty grinned, and Nancy grinned back.
“When do you leave?”
“I report to the New York Aerial Port of Embarkation at La Guardia Field on December 27.”
Betty clapped. “I know better than to ask if I can come along, but I’m green with envy.”
“As you should be—I’d be green if it were you going.”
“And Bob is supportive?”
“He seems to be,” Nancy said with a shrug. “Maybe I’ll hear about his worry later—but he’s putting on a brave front now.”
“I think he knew from the moment you both met that he could never hold you back,” Betty said. “Even if he wanted to.”
“I wouldn’t have married him if he’d been that sort.”
Betty smirked. “I guess it helps that Lt. General Stilwell is no longer commander of the CBI Theater.”
“Definitely.” Nancy winked. Lt. General Joseph W. Stilwell had a rule of no American women in the Pacific Theater, although there had been some exceptions anyway.
“Right.” Betty made a motion to zip her mouth. “Your secret stays with me.”
“Is that someone yelling outside?” Nancy moved to the window and parted the drapes. She stared in disbelief at the sight across from the barracks. Flames poured out of the windows of the officers’ club—where they’d all been eating and drinking only a short time before. “The club is on fire,” Nancy said in disbelief as Betty joined her at the window.
Betty gasped. “What in the world? We need to save it . . .”
Nancy turned and hurried past her, throwing open the bedroom door. Other women had gathered in the hallway, in various states of dress, wearing nightgowns or robes. They pressed toward the exit, spilling out into the cold night.
By the time Nancy stepped outside, the blaze had intensified.
Other airmen had joined in the watch, and a bucket brigade had begun.
“Let it burn!” Nancy Batson yelled.
A few people snickered.
“They have no use for the WASP anymore, so let it burn!” Batson repeated.
The bucket brigade slowed and soon stopped all together. People gathered in small clusters and watched it burn. Without drawing attention to herself, Nancy headed back into the barracks and gathered her WASP uniform. She returned to the blaze, then tossed her uniform onto the orange flames.
She didn’t know if anyone had noticed or was paying attention, but she didn’t care. She’d never liked the WASP uniform, and now she wasn’t obligated to wear it any longer. There was no use for it. This would also be her goodbye to working with Jackie Cochran. Nancy wished her the best, but there was no need to extend their relationship, working or personal or anything else. Besides, Nancy would proudly wear her WAFS uniform for the India trip.
“A fitting end, is it not?” Betty said quietly, coming to stand next to Nancy.
“Going down in a fiery blaze?” Nancy asked, feeling the irony.
Betty slung her arm across Nancy’s shoulder.
Nancy matched her movement, and together with Betty, she watched the dancing flames, half mesmerized.
Yet tears filled her eyes as she thought of another set of flames. Ones that had resulted from the bombing of Pearl Harbor—the event that had brought the US into the war—and now, the flames consuming the officers’ club signaled the beginning of a new chapter in her life.
On one level, Nancy knew she had a demanding and eventful future to look forward to. The flight to India, more time with her husband, a chance to visit her parents, friendships to maintain . . . and a war to finish off.
With or without being a WASP pilot, Nancy would always be an Original WAFS at heart. And she’d continue to serve her country—wherever they might have her. She wasn’t giving up. There were too many skies yet to fly.
Aftermath
On December 27, 1944, Nancy Love reported to the New York Aerial Port of Embarkation at La Guardia Field, where she climbed aboard an ATC transport. Since there had been an order in place of no women allowed in the Pacific Theater, with the exceptions of WACs working as OSS staff in China, or at AAF headquarters in Calcutta, and Army nurses, Nancy’s assignment had to be approved.
Once in Calcutta, Nancy found that many improvements were needed on the Crescent run. She flew a staff B-25 over India as well as the C-54 over the Hump route, otherwise known as the aluminum trail because of danger of high mountain peaks and extreme wind conditions. Nancy also piloted twenty of the fifty-hour C-54 flights from Calcutta to Honolulu. Once she filed her report of suggested improvements to General Nowland on February 9, 1945, her official Ferrying Division duties were over.
With the exception of the brief diversion of Nancy’s trip, General Arnold’s directive that “no women will be employed by the AAF in any flying capacity either as pilot, copilot, or member of a flying crew” stayed in effect until the 1970s.
Bob and Nancy moved to San Francisco after Nancy’s release, but that was short-lived because in December 1945, Bob was elected as the president of All American Aviation, taking over for Richard C. DuPont. This took them back east again, where they purchased a home in Chester County, Pennsylvania. The couple bought two planes, a Vultee BT-13 and a surplus P-38. Finding that the P-38 was too expensive to fly, they sold it and instead bought a four-seater, single-engine Bonanza. On July 15, 1946, the Army Air Forces awarded medals to both Bob and Nancy for their service during the war—the first husband-and-wife duo to receive such an honor.
Nancy and Jackie Cochran parted ways without much of a relationship. Cochran was awarded the Distinguished Service Medal and Distinguished Flying Cross, and in 1948, she joined the US Air Force Reserve as a lieutenant colonel. This did not enact any flying status for women though—a measure that would not happen for women in the Air Force until 1976. In 1953, Cochran became the first woman to break the sound barrier. She was promoted to colonel in 1969 and retired in 1970.
In 1946, Nancy and Bob went to a Boston doctor who specialized in hormones, and it was discovered that Nancy had a blocked fallopian tube that could be remedied by surgery. The surgery was successful, and on August 1, 1947, Nancy delivered her first daughter, Hannah Lincoln Love. When All American Aviation went from an airmail service to a passenger airline and became All American Airways, the Loves moved to Washington, DC.
In 1948, Nancy received a letter from the vice chief of staff of the United States Air Force that offered her a commission as a lieutenant colonel in its Reserves.
The Love family continued to grow, and their second daughter, Margaret Campbell, was born March 22, 1949, and their third daughter, Alice Harkness, was born November 1, 1951. In 1952, the Love family moved permanently to Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts, where Bob’s sister, Margaret, and his widowed mother lived. Bob commuted to Washington, DC, each week, flying their Bonanza on Monday mornings and returning to Martha’s Vineyard on Fridays.
Nancy and Bob loved being parents and included their daughters in their aviation and sailing life. They flew their Bonanza whenever they went off-island, hauling their “children, dogs, furniture, spare sails, marine parts, and assorted cargo” (Nancy Love and the WASP Ferry Pilots of World War II by Sarah Rickman, 243).
All American Airways became Allegheny Airlines, and Bob was the chairman of the board until 1954, after which he became the director. Once Bob didn’t have to be in Washington, DC, five days a week, he turned his attention to sailing. Throughout the 1950s, Bob and Nancy entered sailing races along the East Coast. After Nancy’s father died in early 1958, her mother moved to join the family on the island.
It wasn’t until the 1960s that Nancy discovered that her head injury from falling out of the plane while attending Vassar had been more serious than anyone had realized. While boating with her family, Nancy was steering their Gay Gull III at Jonesport, Maine, and they hit an unmarked outcropping. Nancy was standing and fell forward, striking the boom crutch and splitting her face down the middle. She had plastic surgery to repair the damage to her face, but the X-rays revealed that she’d had an old skull fracture. The discovered skull fracture explained her many years of headache pain (Nancy Love, Rickman, 253–254).
Although life seemed idyllic, surrounded by family and summer visitors, who included many of the WAFS and WASP, such as Betty Gillies, B.J. Erickson London, and Alice Hirschman Hammond, sailing the coast, flying the family airplane, horseback riding, and holding lobster cookouts, Nancy struggled health-wise after her girls left the nest. The smoking she’d picked up during the war continued, and she battled depression, which she numbed with alcohol. Her family intervened, but her challenges continued, and in 1974, Nancy was diagnosed with breast cancer.
Nancy underwent a radical mastectomy in the spring of 1974, but unfortunately, the cancer returned in 1975. Still, Nancy put her energy into her daughter Hannah’s wedding that would take place that fall.
In 1976, the Order of Fifinella organization, comprised of former WASP members, notified Nancy that she’d been named “Woman of the Year,” and the award would be presented at their October reunion. Nancy’s health went into sharp decline, and over the phone, she told WASP President Bee Falk Haydu, “All my life, I thought I’d go down in a blaze of glory in an airplane. Here I am hardly able to do anything at all.” At 6:30 a.m. on October 22, 1976, Nancy Harkness Love died, on the same day that the WASP had gathered to honor her at their reunion.
Thirteen years later, in 1989, Nancy was enshrined in the Michigan Aviation Hall of Fame. Then in 1996, she was posthumously inducted into the Airlift/Tanker Association, the Michigan Women’s Hall of Fame in 1997, and the National Aviation Hall of Fame in Dayton, Ohio, in 2005—the ninth woman to receive such an honor. A statue dedicated to Nancy Harkness Love stands at the New Castle County Airport in Delaware.
Deborah G. Douglas said, “Love’s plan for the WAFS, both in conception and execution, remains an important model for the integration of women into the military. . . . It was absolutely critical that both men and women believed that members of either sex had something to contribute. . . . The gender debate in the military has never been the same since. And that makes Nancy Love one of the more productive historical figures of the first half of the 20th century” (Nancy Love, Rickman, 274).
