The Fun of It/Chapter 14

by Amelia Earhart

TWENTIETH CENTURY PIONEERS

BEHIND modern women pilots stand another group who are the real pioneers. While comparatively few in number they must have had plenty of what my grandmother called “spirit”. Their era was mostly from 1910 to 1919. Since then I believe all have abandoned any active flying, save one, perhaps, who keeps a current Department of Commerce license.

History seems to be running backward in this rambling account of mine. In the midst of going from the modern woman flyer to the decade before, I recall that there are still others who hopped into the air long before those I am now calling pioneers. I’ll retreat a hundred years or more to the very, very first “Lady Aeronauts.”

Although she never flew herself, I doubt if any American woman had a larger hand in making flying a fact than Katherine Wright, the sister of Orville and Wilbur Wright.

The first flight of heavier than air craft was carried out December 17, 1903, at Kill Devil Hills, North Carolina. The little machine used weighed 750 pounds and had a twelve horse power engine. If flew 852 feet in one minute. Wilbur Wright was the pilot and Orville his alter ego on the ground.

As acclaim for the achievement began to roll in from all sides, Orville is quoted as saying, “When the world speaks of the Wrights, it must include our sister. Much of our effort has been inspired by her.”

The Wright brothers had no college education, but the sons of a minister, they were well read and studious. While the boys had a job printing office and then a bicycle shop as their vocation (with aeronautics always an avocation), Katherine Wright acquired Latin and Greek. The money she earned as teacher in these subjects she turned over to her brothers so they might continue their aeronautical experiments which by this time occupied them to the exclusion of bread-and-butter business. So Katherine Wright helped pay for and actually helped build the first heavier than air plane ever flown.

The first woman to receive a license as a pilot was I believe the Baroness de la Roche of France. That was in 1910. Before she took up flying she had raced automobiles and was a well known figure on the track. In 1913, she received the famous Coupe Femina for a flight covering approximately 160 miles. This distance was made in about four hours’ time—a good demonstration of airplane performance of her day.

In 1911 Harriett Quimby won the first license for women in the United States. She was a newspaper woman in Boston and at one time dramatic editor of Leslie’s Weekly, then a flourishing periodical. She learned to fly at the Moisant school on Long Island. The record shows that her instruction covered thirty-three lessons with a little more than four and a half hours in the air. Shortly after she soloed, the Moisant flyers went on a tour of Mexico and America, but Harriett Quimby chose other worlds to conquer.

In 1909 Bleriot had flown the English Channel for the first time, and the feat evidently appealed to Miss Quimby as a mark to shoot for. At all events, on April 12, 1912, she crossed the English Channel from Deal, England, to Epihen, France, in her Bleriot monoplane. Hers was the first crossing by a woman, and probably the most perilous heavier than air flight up to that time attempted by a feminine pilot.

On this flight Harriett Quimby had an experience in fog flying. When she took off the visibility near the ground was poor but for safety’s sake she wanted to fly high. Therefore, she plowed through to sunlight on the top of a layer of clouds at 6000 feet. Fortunately she had a compass and by following it managed to reach the opposite shore without being able to see it on the way across.

In appraising this fine feminine feat it must be remembered the pilot had no parachute and none of the instruments known today. Besides such lack, her plane and engine were far inferior in many ways to those in the air today.

I have seen pictures showing Harriett Quimby as she dressed the day of that flight and on others too. Extraordinary clothes! There was as much

Harriet Quimby

Publicizing an Early Flyer­

contrast between flying togs of that day and this as there is between the planes themselves. Miss Quimby’s costume material was purple satin. There were full bloomers reaching below the knee with high laced shoes below. She wore a blouse with long full sleeves and high collar buttoned tight around her neck. Her headgear as pictured in the old photographs resembles nothing so much as a monk’s cowl. Accessories were goggles and gaunt­lets and a long leather coat for cold weather flying.

We’re more fortunate in our clothing today. In an open cockpit plane it is sensible and comfortable to dress either in breeks of some sort or routine sport clothing of the season. In closed planes, any street costume will do, as there is no exposure.

Harriett Quimby was killed at a Boston air meet on July 1, 1912. She was flying her Bleriot mono­plane, one of the best performers of that day, but exceedingly unstable. From all accounts balance had to be maintained with a bag of sand placed at a specific point in the machine when there was no passenger. When there was, he or she had to sit immovable. A shift of this center of gravity, whether caused by the movement of the sand or the living ballast, meant disaster.

Apparently such a shift occurred at Boston. A Mr. Willard in charge of the meet flew with Har­riett Quimby. Toward the end of the flight at an altitude of two thousand feet he moved unduly, the monoplane gave a sharp dip and apparently went out of control. Willard’s body flew into the air followed a few seconds later by that of the woman pilot.

John Moisant was one of the early American pilots. Among other things he had flown the Eng­lish Channel and prior to 1911 had brought over flying equipment to this country with which he es­tablished the Moisant International Aviators, Inc. As I have said, Harriett Quimby took her instruction at his school.

In 1911 John Moisant was killed flying at New Orleans. Shortly after that, Mathilde, his sister, learned to fly and started out with the survivors of the original Moisant touring group. With them in 1911 she went to Mexico in a series of flying exhibitions. There they narrowly escaped losing their equipment to the revolutionists and literally had to fly for their lives. Just a year after her brother’s death Mathilde flew at New Orleans and there was presented with the cup which had been destined for him.

Accidents were sprinkled through these busy months. Finally, toward the close of 1912, she insisted on flying in unpromising weather at Wichita Falls, Texas, rather than disappoint a crowd which had waited several days for her. Landing in a high wind, she apparently bounced into the air again. In order to avoid injuring people who immediately rushed out on the field, she opened the throttle and tried to take off. She was only partly successful and landed again this time rolling over. Splinters of the broken propeller punctured the gas tanks and set the ship and pilot on fire. Mathilde was rescued with her hair and leggings singed.

Then in earnest did the Moisant family step in. They had previously urged their daughter to abandon flying and this time they succeeded in gaining their end. It is said the reward for parental obedience was a plantation in San Salvador. At all events, after five strenuous months, Mathilde Moisant ceased to fly.

Outstanding among the earlier women flyers was Ruth Law. She was born in Lynn, Massachusetts. She obtained the third license granted to women in America and I don’t believe aviation has seen a more picturesque figure than this original Ruth. She went after flying with great determination. With her there was a real feeling of competition against the men of the day who in training and equipment were forging ahead of the few individual women struggling for a chance in the air.

Here is a story which gives a picture of the kind of thing Miss Law wanted to do and how she did it:

Early in November, 1916, Victor Carlstrom took off on what was to be an epoch-making flight. He started from Chicago hoping to reach New York, in an effort to establish a new non-stop distance record. No one had ever flown so far. Carlstrom flew a Jenny, the latest in military planes, and he carried the then very large load of 206 gallons of gasoline.

He had covered 452 miles when a fuel line broke and he had to come down at Erie, Pennsylvania.

In the meantime Ruth Law had been thinking about exactly the same flight. The plane she had was a Curtiss D pusher with a fuel capacity of 53 gallons.

So, a couple of weeks after Carlstrom’s flight, she left Chicago. It was a gusty day and the pilot had a hard time getting the plane out of Grant Park. Even without her extra load of gasoline, that place offered a pretty restricted area. Once off, her troubles were not over for she had to skim along over the city at a 200 foot altitude, dodging in and out among the buildings, until she reached open country.

Profiting by Carlstrom’s misfortune. Miss Law had installed a rubber hose as a fuel line, so that she would not be troubled with its breaking. Her in­struments, in contrast to those used today, were a compass and a clock! However, because she hoped to make a record, she also carried a barograph to show she had not landed.

Her clothes for the flight consisted of “two lay­ers of wool and two layers of leather.” She chose the popular knickers of the day and a wool hockey cap. Even with this warm attire, it must have been bitterly cold stitting forward on the little machine entirely unprotected against the wind.

Nevertheless Ruth Law remained in the air for five hours and 45 minutes or until she had used her last drop of gasoline. She landed at Hornell, New York, 590 miles from Chicago and 128 miles be­yond Erie.

Not having an airport handy, she came down in a farmyard. As she crawled stiffly from the seat, someone in the crowd which quickly gathered asked her if she had had any food since morning. She shook her head.

“I have to fix the plane before I can think about that,” she said.

She thereupon busied herself tying her craft se­curely to a tree lest the wind injure it. When she was satisfied to leave, hospitable citizens took her to town where she dined on scrambled eggs, and thawed out.

The original plan had been to make her first stop at Binghamton. Fuel was ordered there and Cur­tiss mechanics from Hammondsport were waiting to service the plane. Consequently Miss Law took aboard only enough gasoline for the intervening distance and then hopped off. Arrived at Bing­hamton, she at first insisted on trying to push through that night. But in the face of darkness and none too promising weather, she reluctantly consented to stay where she was until the next morning.

Today it is simple to fly this short distance to New York. A sidelight on the difficulties encountered then, is Miss Law’s experience in crossing New York City. About the time she reached the Harlem canal her motor began to sputter from lack of gas. Apparently, not wishing to carry any more weight than she had to, she had come from Bing­hamton with barely enough to reach her goal. The tanks, of necessity, had been so placed that in order to drain them entirely she had to rock the plane and splash fuel into the carburetor. Bobbing along thus, she reached the vicinity of Twenty-third Street when the motor began to give more trouble than ever. She used the last of her fuel to gain al­titude and then with a dead stick glided to a pre­determined landing spot on Governor’s Island.

What a welcome she received! General Leonard Wood greeted her and bands played and flags flew. She was given the Aero Club Medal of Merit and $2500. The great explorers Amundsen and Peary were among those who acclaimed her, as did also very generously, Victor Carlstrom whom she had vanquished.

The following years for Ruth Law were filled with all kinds of activities, including barnstorming. One colorful incident stands out particularly. Until 1916, the statue of Liberty was lighted only by the electric bulbs in the lifted torch. The New York World waged a successful campaign to have the whole figure adequately illuminated. President Wilson and Ruth Law were the headliners on the first night of the new lights. He was to press the button to turn them on and she was to fly as a feature. The performance went off as scheduled, with Miss Law appearing out of the darkness car­rying magnesium flares on her wing tips and the word “Liberty” in electric lights on the under sur­face.

After a few years of barnstorming during which she did aerial acrobatics, Miss Law retired with her husband to California where she now lives.

Whenever famous names in aviation are men­tioned, “Stinson” is among them. While there were two brothers in the family who entered the ranks of aviation, I shall confine myself to the sis­ters, Marjorie and Katherine. I could not begin to enumerate all the incidents in the career of either one, so I shall tell only a few tales of each.

Let’s take Katherine first. She obtained her li­cense in 1912 and devoted a few years afterward to exhibition flights here and abroad. From what I can learn she received recognition and medals of honor everywhere for her exploits. One of the most interesting flights she made was in 1917. She, like Ruth Law, had tried to enter the Government fly­ing service and had been turned down. However, she was able to borrow a ship from the army to use on a special mission for the Red Cross. It was-a “Jenny” and a new type to her but she soloed it after fifteen minutes’ dual flight.

Bearing formal notice to Secretary McAdoo that Buffalo had oversubscribed its quota, she set out one afternoon from that city for Washington, D. C. Her first stop was Syracuse and then Albany where she landed on Van Rensselaer Island in the Hud­son River. She stayed in Albany all night and re­sumed her journey in the morning.

Her navigating aids were noteworthy. She had a map from Buffalo to Albany, but from there she followed the New York Central tracks to reach New York, her next stopping place. To Phila­delphia and Washington she used simply a Penn­sylvania Railroad folder as a guide! As she passed various cities, she threw out Red Cross literature and circled over them, so that it was late in the evening of the second day when she came down in Washington on the Polo Grounds.

The pictures of Katherine Stinson show her in what looks like a ready made jacket suit, with a curl over her shoulder and a ribbon on her hair. Probably as difficult as flying the 373 miles in a single day was keeping that curl and ribbon in place. At the time of this trip, the pilot weighed 105 pounds and had to stand up in the cockpit to enable the crowd to see her.

Another flight worth remembering was that when she bettered Ruth Law’s distance record. She started out from Chicago under entirely different auspices from her predecessor. Before leaving she was sworn in as a postal clerk and carried a sack of mail containing sixty-one special letters. She, too, left from Grant Park and followed the identical route of her feminine rival. However, she not only sailed by Erie, but Hornell as well and landed in Binghamton, establishing a new long distance rec­ord of 783 miles and one for endurance, too, with ten hours in the air.

On the Friendship flight I have said the crew was supplied with malted milk tablets. When I took them I had no idea that Miss Stinson had set the precedent, but in accounts of this flight of hers, she says, “I took three handfuls of malted milk tab­lets, one for each meal.”

Unlike Miss Law, Katherine Stinson encoun­tered trouble in landing. In deep mud, she nosed over and broke her propeller. Twice she repeated the performance in the week following, owing to the inadequacy of the field from which she was try­ing to take off. But she made New York eventu­ally and landed at a field on Sheepshead Bay.

Cross country trips of the simplest kind were unusual and dangerous experiences before 1920. In fact, it was generally the custom to ship airplanes by rail from place to place for the exhibitions which were the order of the day. From this fact one can get a measure of Katherine Stinson’s performance in the days when airplanes were never thought of as transportation means.

Two years after Katherine had soloed, Marjorie decided to fly. She was not quite eighteen when she presented herself at the Wright Brothers school in Dayton in June, 1914.

One of the Wright brothers looked over the youthful aspirant. “I’m sorry we can’t accept you until your parents wire their consent”, said he. If we can judge by Miss Stinson’s own account of the incident, we can visualize a very angry little fig­ure facing Mr. Wright. She confesses she had on her longest skirt, yet here was a man refusing the money she had brought for her instruction and really treating her as if she were a child.

After vigorously protesting, she consented to telegraph her father and mother in San Antonio for their formal permission. When it came, she was permitted to enroll as a bona fide student. With her were four others to be joined by a fifth later on. Of course, they were men.

The plane the students used had a thirty horse power motor in it and was in several respects dif­ferent from the other models of the day. However, it was like them in that it was a somewhat delicate creature and could only be flown under the best con­ditions. Consequently flying instruction was in force at dawn when the weather conditions were likely to be most favorable. Marjorie Stinson writes of these days that she sometimes managed to get in five minutes in the morning and if she was lucky five minutes again in the evening.

At that rate it took her six weeks to master her course well enough to solo. During that period she had many adventures. Apparently the class went out en masse and captured the horses in a neighboring pasture. They fished and flew kites and waited hours around the field for chances to fly.

Katherine Stinson visited her sister several times to be sure she was progressing properly. On the day before her first solo she paid an extra special visit.

Like other flyers of her day whose income came from teaching or giving exhibition flights—Mar­jorie Stinson spent the next few years flying here and there about the country.

In 1917 she received a telegram from four Cana­dians asking her to train them in order that they might enter the air service of their country. The first four were followed by others and still others. In all she trained several score, not including chance civilians. One of her first difficulties during these intensive days was a requirement of the Canadians that they be taught the “three-in-one” method. That meant she had to change her ship from a wing warping type to one with ailerons. Instead of the three levers with which it was equipped, she had to work out means of substituting one operated by an automobile steering wheel. By the combined ef­forts of her pupils, her mechanic and herself that engineering feat was accomplished and she flight tested the machine.

With all her students she had to make an agree­ment that at a given signal they would release the controls to her, if she wished. This she did to over­come the handicap of her size. Being so much smaller than the individuals she was teaching, she might otherwise have been unable to manoeuver the plane in an emergency against their superior strength.

Today Marjorie Stinson is the only woman of this period who keeps an active Department of Commerce license.