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Copyright © 2002, 2018 Gene Nora Jessen
Cover and internal design © 2018 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover design by The Book Designers
Internal design by Jillian Rahn/Sourcebooks, Inc.
The women featured on the cover, starting from the top right corner and working clockwise, are Gladys O’Donnell, Ruth Nichols, Thea Rasche, Amelia Earhart, Ruth Elder, and Mary Haizlip.
Images courtesy of the Ninety-Nines Museum of Women Pilots and the Thaden Family Collection.
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.
Poems by Louise Thaden used by permission of Pat Thaden Webb, 2017.
“Race Gear” by Gill Robb Wilson, 1938. Used by permission of Flying Magazine, 2017.
“Amelia” by Gill Robb Wilson, 1938. Used by permission of Flying Magazine, 2017.
This publication is designed to provide accurate and authoritative information in regard to the subject matter covered. It is sold with the understanding that the publisher is not engaged in rendering legal, accounting, or other professional service. If legal advice or other expert assistance is required, the services of a competent professional person should be sought.—From a Declaration of Principles Jointly Adopted by a Committee of the American Bar Association and a Committee of Publishers and Associations
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Originally published as The Powder Puff Derby of 1929 in 2002 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Jessen, Gene Nora, author.
Title: Sky girls : the true story of the first women’s cross-country air race / Gene Nora Jessen.
Other titles: Powder Puff Derby of 1929
Description: Naperville, Illinois : Sourcebooks, [2018] | “Originally published as The Powder Puff Derby of 1929 in 2002 by Sourcebooks, Inc.” | Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017052013 | (pbk. : alk. paper)
Subjects: LCSH: Powder Puff Derby. | Women air pilots--United States--History.
Classification: LCC GV759.2.P74 J47 2018 | DDC 797.5--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017052013
For Page Shamburger,
who insisted that I tell this story.
DEDICATED TO
Florence L. Barnes 1901–1975
Marvel Crosson 1900–1929
Amelia Earhart 1897–1937
Ruth Elder 1903–1977
Claire Fahy Unknown–1930
Edith Foltz 1905–1956
Mary Haizlip 1910–1997
Opal Kunz 1896–1967
Jessie Keith-Miller 1901–1972
Ruth Nichols 1901–1960
Blanche Noyes 1900–1981
Gladys O’Donnell 1904–1973
Phoebe Omlie 1903–1975
Neva Paris Unknown–1930
Margaret Perry Unknown–1951
Thea Rasche 1899–1971
Louise Thaden 1905–1979
Bobbi Trout 1906–2003
Mary Von Mach 1896–1980
Vera Walker 1897–1978
CONTENTS
Foreword
by Eileen Collins
Introduction
Sky Girls
Epilogue
Afterword
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
Photo Credits
Bibliography
Reading Group Guide
A Conversation with the Author
About the Author
“I, for one, hope for the day when women will know no restrictions because of sex but will be individuals free to live their lives as men are free. Women must try to do things as men have tried. When they fail, their failure must be but a challenge to others.”
—AMELIA EARHART
FOREWORD
by Eileen Collins
Amelia Earhart, Louise Thaden, Bobbi Trout, and many more: These women are my heroes! They had three things in common: a connection to aviation, a fearless spirit, and a thirst for adventure. I am not sure they understood how their apparently glamorous lives would inspire so many other people, both men and women, to pursue the adventure of flight. In fact, they inspired me to learn to fly.
My connection to aviation began when I was about eight years old, in Elmira, New York. I attended summer camp at Harris Hill, the location of today’s National Soaring Museum. During camp activities, I watched tow planes carry gliders to a high altitude and release them, allowing the gliders to turn and “dance” through the warm afternoon thermals. Flying lessons were out of the question for me, as my family skimped by on a tight budget. Fortunately, my Irish American parents had a sense of adventure. My dad would take us to the local airport, where we would sit on the hood of our car and watch the occasional aircraft take off. My mother would take me and my three siblings to the local library, where I discovered books on flying. In these simple ways, I connected to a desire to fly. And as I read more about aircraft and the daring pilots who flew them, I wanted not only to fly, but to go farther, faster, and higher than anyone ever had before!
I met Gene Nora Jessen in 1994 in Oklahoma City at the first reunion of the Mercury 13 women. I was fascinated to learn their story. In the early 1960s, many outstanding young women pilots were asked to participate in the Mercury Astronaut medical testing, and thirteen of them did so well they were called back for further testing. Gene Nora was one of these women. Although NASA never gave them an opportunity to fly in space, they all contributed greatly to the spaceflight program. NASA knew that women would have the physical endurance and aptitude to perform as astronauts due to the performance of the Mercury 13 and formally invited them to apply as astronauts at the beginning of the Space Shuttle program. Later, when I was selected as the first woman Space Shuttle pilot in 1990, it was due partly to the work the Mercury 13 completed three decades earlier. I am thankful for their participation, patience, and sacrifice, as I stand on their shoulders.
As I learned about the Powder Puff Derby of 1929, I thought about my own family and what they would have been doing in that time. My grandmother and grandfather were thirty-five years old. They had a toddler at home—my dad, who was only three years old. They lived a simple life—no washing machine, no television, meat was stored in salt vats in the cellar—and ran an Irish pub in a small town in upstate New York. The world was so different in 1929, but it was still less than one hundred years ago. My mother was only two years old, the daughter of an Irishman who worked on the railroads. I am sure they read about the air races in the newspaper. Nineteen women had the guts to enter into a new world of competitive air races, while also facing the dangers of aircraft emergencies, hazardous weather, and potential
disapproval from family and friends. Oh, how I wonder what my grandparents were thinking!
Likewise, what would those pilots of 1929 think about our world today? I am sure they would be pleased by the advancement in commercial aviation, the “comfortable” seats, the warm air, the low noise, and the ease of travel that we routinely complain about. And what would they think of the space program? Although today’s space programs are still in their early years, there are similarities to the aviation programs of the 1920s. In fact, many of them were alive to see Neil Armstrong walk on the moon only forty years later. However, an interesting difference is the amount of risk pilots were willing to assume in the 1920s versus almost a century later.
Early aviation progressed so very quickly compared to today’s spacecraft mainly because of the overall freedom in the system. Because of the low number of regulations in the 1920s, aircraft designers had the freedom to experiment, and pilots had the freedom to expand the envelope of the aircraft. The price of this freedom was the high accident rate and high death rate, but it allowed aviation to rapidly advance from the Wright Brothers’ first flight to the first operational jet aircraft of the 1940s and 1950s. These early, seemingly fearless pilots were willing to test the corners of the envelope, so to speak, while refusing to be slowed down by rules and regulations. After the Challenger and Columbia space shuttle accidents, space flight was determined to be so risky that it took almost two and a half years to get the next shuttle off the launch pad. Many pilots lost their lives over the years in aviation accidents, so was this the right price to pay for more rapid advancement in aviation? That appeared to be so in my grandmother’s world, and had we used a conservative risk management strategy in the 1920s, we most certainly would have slowed down the progress of aviation.
Of course, the women racers had much more than just a simple connection to aviation and a sense of fearlessness: a passion for flight! They had an attraction to the sky. Was it the clouds? Was it the sunsets? Was it the desire to look down at the tiny dots of people going about their everyday business? Or did they desire fame and fortune, power or competition? Most certainly, they loved the sense of freedom. Perhaps some of them loved the exactness of hitting flight parameters and navigation milestones. Maybe it was a desire to travel to faraway place, the thrill of loading up the turns and pulling g’s. Maybe it was a desire for solitude, up and away from the stresses of life. Or maybe it was all of these.
These pilots of the 1929 Powder Puff Derby were living in a very different time—the Wild West of aviation! But I grew up in a much more conventional era. Today, we would never accept the mechanical malfunctions, the physical discomfort, and certainly not the death rate. I am fascinated not only by their bravery in the face of physical danger and their willingness to operate in such a cramped, cold, noisy environment, but also by the fact that these women chose to do this although it was perceived as a male-only activity and profession.
I can’t help but wonder what it would have been like to work and fly with these amazing pilots. I realize how difficult it must have been for those women to enter an unconventional field. And I can only imagine the bravery it took to learn to fly in the first place! I remember how much courage it took for me, at twenty years old, to go to my local airport and ask them to teach me to fly. I was afraid they would tell me no simply because I was a girl. I ruminated about this for many, many months, until my calling got the best of me, and I made the trip to the local fixed-base operator. I immediately discovered the friendliness and professionalism of the local pilots, and they were thrilled to have another student in their school.
Without a doubt, the Powder Puff Derby pilots truly loved what they did. They are an inspiration, not only to those in aviation careers, but to all of us, men and women alike. The pilots that followed them built on their experiences and lessons learned. During World War II, the Women Airforce Service Pilots (WASP) ferried and flight-tested aircraft here in the United States, so men could fly combat missions overseas. Women were allowed to train as naval pilots for the first time in 1974, and air force women were allowed to train in 1976. I was thrilled when I was selected for air force pilot training in 1978, but I could not fly my dream aircraft, as women were prohibited from combat aircraft until the restriction was lifted in 1993.
I see these generations of women pilots as a unified team. Each of these incredible women built upon the work that was successfully completed prior. They are my role models. As an astronaut, flight instructor, and mother, I know that role models provide an important impetus as we try to develop wisdom, courage, and strength: wisdom to make the right decisions, courage to take the first steps, and strength to carry it through. I hope many people, young and old, men and women, pilots or not, learn this story. They will most certainly draw inspiration from a generation of women who had aviation in their heart, who were fearless adventure-seekers with a competitive spirit, and a passion for flight.
—Eileen Collins, first female space shuttle commander
INTRODUCTION
BEGINNINGS
Naturally, participants in the first Women’s Air Derby of 1929 were not the first pioneering aviators of the fairer sex. They rode on the wings of predecessors who had braved even less reliable aircraft.
In 1784, before America had even elected its first president, Madame Thible ascended as a balloon passenger in Lyons, France. A century later, in 1880, American aeronautical engineer and inventor Carl E. Myers called upon his wife, Mary, to be his test pilot, choosing the more exotic Carlotta as her stage name. She probably made more than five hundred balloon ascents testing her husband’s theories, and she became quite an experienced aeronaut in her own right.
By 1909, the vivacious French Baroness Raymonde de Laroche had driven racing cars and made flights in balloons. She didn’t hesitate to fly a Voisin biplane a short six years after the Wright brothers initially flew. She learned to manipulate the unstable and unpredictable machine and became the first woman licensed to fly by the Fédération Aéronautique Internationale. To questions about engine failures and even structural collapse, she spoke of fate and fear.
“Most of us spread the perils of a lifetime over a number of years,” the daring de Laroche said. “Others may pack them into a matter of only a few hours. In any case, whatever is to happen will happen—it may well be that I shall tempt Fate once too often. Who knows? But it is to the air that I have dedicated myself, and I fly always without the slightest fear.”
Fate did catch up with the intrepid French baroness, as it overtook so many early fliers. She was killed in an airplane crash in 1919 at the age of twenty-three.
In 1909, across the Channel, Lilian Bland of Belfast, Ireland, was a successful writer and press photographer for London newspapers. Bland constructed a model biplane that she flew as a kite, then, encouraged with that success, she built a full-size glider of spruce. She designed wings like those of seagulls, and she coated the fabric surfaces with a photographic solution to make them waterproof.
Ready to fly her glider under power, Bland ordered a two-cylinder engine that developed twenty horsepower at one thousand revolutions per minute. Starting it up, the plane’s wooden propeller spun off, miraculously missing nearby spectators. Her next try resulted in vibrations that snapped most of the wires between the struts. Soon, the repaired airplane flew thirty feet, hopping short distances like a rabbit, a rocky type of flight that was all too typical of aeronautical advancements of the day.
Hélène Dutrieu was already famous as a trick bicyclist when she took up flying in 1910, becoming Belgium’s first licensed female pilot. She gained fame by flying the inconceivable nonstop distance of twenty-eight miles. People gathered in the streets and church bells pealed as she climbed to the extreme height of thirteen hundred feet. Dutrieu’s feats brought her France’s coveted Legion of Honor award in 1913.
The first solo female pilot could have been Aida de Acosta, a young Cuban American visiting Paris with her mother in 1903. Intrigued with Brazilian in
ventor Alberto Santos-Dumont’s dirigibles, the young girl was soon taking flight instruction. After three lessons, de Acosta flew the dirigible alone for two hours, and said, “I stopped the petrol motor and came down like a feather. I’ve never had so much fun in my life.” That was five months before the Wright brothers’ flight, which made de Acosta the first woman of powered flight.
The event was nearly lost to history, because de Acosta’s angry father extracted a promise from Santos-Dumont to never mention Aida de Acosta by name in recounting her flight. Señor de Acosta reminded his wife and daughter that “a proper woman should only be mentioned in the newspaper twice—to announce her marriage and her death.”
There are many shades of “first.” Who was America’s first female pilot? Resourceful Bessica Raiche built her own airplane in her drawing room, then she flew it on September 16, 1910. The intrepid lady, who later became a physician, exemplified the unquenchable enthusiasm of the early dreamers. Her entire instruction had been how to move the wheel to make the airplane go up and down. Since there was no throttle control, volunteers held on to the wings while the engine engaged. When the restraints were released, the air machine flew.
Blanche Stuart Scott, an unabashed tomboy, reveled in firsts. She became a trick bicycle rider, then drove an automobile across the United States—a sixty-nine-day journey at a time when there were only 216 miles of paved road in the entire country. She became a member of the famous Glenn Curtiss exhibition team, and Curtiss himself declared her America’s first aviatrix on September 6, 1910, though she never did obtain a pilot’s license.
Petite Harriet Quimby, called the “Dresden Doll,” became America’s first licensed woman pilot at the Moisant School in 1911, the year before her death at age twenty-eight. Quimby traveled to France to fly a Bleriot monoplane across the English Channel. She sat outside in the open, before there was such a thing as a cockpit, enveloped by mist and chilling cold. Only three months later, she died in the unstable Bleriot over Boston Harbor. Fellow student Mathilde Moisant, after a grand total of thirty-two minutes of flight instruction, became licensed pilot number two, and she soon established an altitude record of fifteen hundred feet.
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