As told through the observances of an unnamed newspaper reporter, who also lusts after Laverne, Faulkner’s characters lead exaggeratedly unconventional lives of illicit sex and reckless flying that lead toward inevitable tragedy. In the end, Shumann dies in a fiery crash and Laverne is left bereft and alone.
There was little doubt that Roger and Laverne were based on the exploits of Vernon and Phoebe. She had loaned the author her early scrapbooks and clippings to use while writing the manuscript. When the novel was published, Phoebe was shocked and embarrassed by what he had done with them. Faulkner had taken the raw material of her achievements and twisted them into a grotesque tale of a sexually voracious usurper in the masculine world of aviation. Publicly, she said nothing except when she was directly asked about the veracity of the characterizations. Then she simply noted that she and her husband “disapproved of Bill’s Pylon.”66 When Vernon privately admonished Faulkner with the comment that “aviation people are not like the way you portray them, and I doubt that it will be accepted by the majority of the people,” the author allegedly replied that he was more interested in selling books than portraying historical accuracy.67
The Flying Faulkners continued throughout the summer of 1935, doing airshows around the mid-South. Dean earned his transport license and bought his brother’s Waco. In one of the last events of the season, the troupe was scheduled for a show on Sunday afternoon, 10 November, at Pontotoc, Mississippi. Dean had been hauling passengers all day Saturday and continued to do so Sunday morning. He had three passengers with him who were viewing their farm from the air when the Waco suddenly plummeted to earth, killing all aboard. Witnesses said the plane was about 4,000 feet when the wing fell off and the plane dived into an open field, the wing landing in a cemetery about a mile away. Vernon, who had thoroughly inspected and certified the plane when Dean bought it just a few weeks before, rushed to the scene. Vernon’s examination of the wreckage revealed that the control wheel, which was moveable, had been moved to the right, indicating that Dean’s passenger had been flying the plane at the time of the crash. Devastated by the loss of his friend, Vernon told a friend that the accident “will always be a mystery. No one will ever know for sure exactly what happened.” William Faulkner blamed himself for encouraging his brother to fly, for buying the plane, and ultimately for his death. Though they shared grief over the loss of Dean, how Vernon and Bill responded to each other after the accident is unknown.68
Phoebe’s work in Washington took on new impetus after she conceived and developed a million-dollar program that she staffed with an all-women crew.69 Aviation, she frequently told the press, was “a field where women have the same opportunities as men, where men will cooperate with women and help them get ahead.”70 She aimed to prove it while simultaneously solving a very serious problem for civil aviation.
Navigation, the seemingly simple matter of avoiding getting lost, had long vexed pilots. While the needs of commercial aviation were increasingly being addressed with aids like radio beacons and lighting systems, the private pilot still flew the way she always had, balancing a road map on her knees, tracing her route with a thumb. Whether flying over the trackless desert or the farm-country grid of the Midwest, there was little information to help her figure out where precisely she was. This became particularly acute during flights over strange and unmarked territory as storms closed in. Perhaps there was enough gas to reach the nearest airport, but only if the pilot knew where that airport was. During Phoebe’s thousands of hours in the air she had often been lost and had witnessed countless other pilots who had to set down in unfamiliar and often dangerous terrain to ascertain where they were.
Local attempts to put “road signs in the air” had been started by some municipalities and aero clubs in the 1920s. In 1928, the Bureau of Air Commerce held an airway-marking conference to work on formulating a set of standard guidelines. Their report called for the name of the location in chrome yellow letters ten to thirty feet high, a north arrow, and the distance and direction of the nearest airport. Efforts were sporadic and funding depended upon the will and determination of local activists.71 As she flew across the country in 1932, Amelia Earhart complained that she saw few towns properly named. “In some, the airway sign boards had been so neglected that the lettering was dirty and almost illegible; in others the only words visible from above spelled the names of certain kinds of pills or liniment.”72
The program finally came together when a pilot with sensitivity to the situation was in a position of power to obtain federal funding. Shortly after Col. Walter Sumpter Smith, army pilot and former commander of the Alabama Air National Guard, was appointed head of the Airport Division of the Works Progress Administration, he dropped by Phoebe’s office. As pilot’s often do, they engaged in a bit of hangar flying, including tales of “railroad-track navigation” and “div[ing] down over depots” to figure out their location. Together they mapped out an air-marking plan to use the WPA to solve this problem and lobbied the WPA’s new auditor, Corrington Gill, to approve the funds.73 Unemployed men would be put to work, and pilots would have a road map in the sky to help them find their way. The plan was for twelve-foot black-and-orange letters to be painted on the roofs of barns, factories, warehouses, and water tanks. Visible from 4,000 feet, they identified the locale, gave the north bearing, and indicated by circle, arrow, and numeral the distance and direction to the nearest airport.
Phoebe was in charge of the program, working under Jack Wynne, director of airports for the bureau; her new title was assistant to the chief of the airport section.74 Phoebe announced that the project would use women in multiple capacities to ensure its success. She requested approval to use women in local areas for liaison work. She wrote to Mr. Robert Lees of the Works Progress Administration that while “the actual painting would come under the labor of men … there is nothing in these approved projects that limits the liaison work necessary to obtain roof-top site releases to the male sex. This work could be done by women.” She suggested that special efforts be made to involve women’s organizations as well as the traditional male civic clubs in the project.75 Phoebe was authorized to hire three fliers as field coordinators to work with state and local officials and WPA coordinators to set up the project. She immediately hired Louise Thaden to help her plan the project. Considerable research was required to determine the cost of materials, hours of labor involved, and general policy considerations.
Phoebe and Louise charted each state in fifteen-mile squares and designated the nearest towns to the intersecting lines as possible sites for markers. Phoebe then added “famed female flyers” Helen McCloskey and Nancy Harkness to aid Thaden as field representatives.76 Ironically, the women pilots had no airplanes. The comptroller general would not allow WPA funds to be used for additional equipment for the project and the bureau did not have enough planes available for their own personnel. So the women traveled by bus, train, and airline when possible.77 The women worked with state and area WPA coordinators, local leaders and civic clubs like the American Legion, the Shriners, numerous women’s clubs, Lions’ Clubs, chambers of commerce, Rotary and Zonta Clubs, to obtain permission and workers to paint rooftops on municipal buildings, businesses, barns, and factories. Sometimes multiple rooftops on groups of small buildings were used; in rural areas where buildings were not available, they built “shelters” to support the markings. Markers were painted on open highways and painted rocks were arranged to mark the tops of mountains.78 Newsweek observed that the women “must be expert salesmen as well as pilots. A stubborn official can usually be convinced by flying him 15 miles from the airport and letting him try to find the way back.”79
Fieldwork for the program began in October 1935 and less than a year later Time magazine announced that fully 58 percent of some 16,000 proposed markers were completed. All states had approved the program with an average of 300 markers being painted per state.80
In a nationwide radio address in the spring of 1935, First Lady Eleanor Roo
sevelt recognized Phoebe’s achievement, naming her among “eleven women whose achievements make it safe to say that the world is progressing.” Also included in the list were Amelia Earhart, novelist Dorothy Canfield, social worker Jane Addams, suffragist Mrs. Carrie Chapman Catt, Secretary of Labor Frances Perkins, Assistant Secretary of the Treasury Josephine Roche, New York settlement workers Lillian Wald and Mrs. M. M. Simkhovitch, industrialist Mary Dillon, and the late suffragist Dr. Anna Howard Shaw. These women, Mrs. Roosevelt said, “have been and are a constant inspiration to me.”81 Columnist Mary Margaret McBride also included Phoebe in her own list of eleven women who “have improved the 8,760 shining hours of 1934 by making new highs in human endeavor.”82
With her air-marking program essentially complete, Phoebe was pleased to be able to release her women pilots to compete in the 1936 Bendix Trophy Race, a transcontinental race culminating at the National Air Races in Los Angeles.83 Established in 1931 by industrialist Vincent Bendix, the prestigious race attracted the top pilots. Jimmy Doolittle won it the first year. Amelia Earhart became the first woman to enter the Bendix in 1935; she finished in fifth place.84 As an added incentive to attract women, Bendix posted a special award of $2,500 for the female pilot who finished first regardless of her position in the race itself.85 While Phoebe was not an entrant, she was the official representative for the National Aeronautical Association’s Contest Board for the Bendix, and she enthusiastically encouraged her compatriots to take up the challenge.
The race was not until September. In early August, Phoebe was expecting Vernon to pick her up for a long-planned fishing vacation in Maine.86 After her return, she would campaign again for FDR. She knew that, given the restrictions of the Hatch Act that prohibited federal employees from engaging in partisan political activity, she would have to resign her position. Nonetheless, as she wrote her congressman E. H. Crump, she would “consider it a privilege to do anything possible to help to bring about a victory for the Democratic Party.”87 Further, she hoped to return to the newly reelected administration in a better position. She had her sights on becoming the new assistant secretary of commerce for aeronautics.88 Her plans were in place; her future looked bright. But then “all the heavens caved in.”89
1. Phoebe Fairgrave, circa 1920, shortly after graduating from high school. Phoebe Omlie Collection.
2. Phoebe Fairgrave in front of her new Curtiss Jenny, 1921, with her pilot, Vernon C. Omlie. Phoebe Omlie Collection.
3. Vernon Omlie pilots the Curtiss Jenny as Phoebe Fairgrave, having just exited the cockpit, makes her way along the wing to a vertical strut. Photo series by P. W. Hamilton, photographer for the Minneapolis Tribune. Phoebe Omlie Collection.
4. Phoebe stretches up to grab hold of the upper wing.
5. Phoebe secures a handhold and pulls herself up.
6. With her toes hooked under a wire, Phoebe rides on top as Vernon puts the Jenny through a series of stunts.
7. After landing in a lake during an early parachute jump, Phoebe began wearing a partially inflated inner-tube in order to make herself more buoyant. Phoebe Omlie Collection.
8. The Phoebe Fairgrave Fliers featured her famous Double Parachute Jump. Phoebe Omlie Collection.
9. Phoebe Fairgrave and her Monocoupe Chiggers. Phoebe Omlie Collection.
10. Phoebe Fairgrave at a stop in her hometown of St. Paul during the 1928 Ford Reliability Air Tour. She was the only woman competitor in the tour. Minneapolis Public Library.
11. At the end of the tour, Phoebe is hoisted on the shoulders of Edsel Ford and Michigan governor Fred W. Green. The Benson Ford Research Center, Dearborn, Michigan.
12. Pilots gather at the start of the 1929 National Women’s Air Derby. Left to right: Ruth Nichols, Bobbi Trout, Blanche Noyes, Amelia Earhart, Dr. A. C. Rohrbach (German plane designer), Thea Rasche, Gladys O’Donnell, Phoebe Omlie. Cleveland Press Collection, Cleveland State University Library.
13. After winning in the CW class of the Women’s Air Derby, Phoebe poses with her plane Miss Moline and her trophies. Left to right: trophy for winning closed-course race, the Aerol Efficiency Trophy, trophy for CW class win. Courtesy of Heather Taylor.
14. Phoebe preparing to meet President Herbert Hoover at the White House in 1930 to invite him to the National Air Races in Chicago. The Library of Congress, LC-USZ62-97332.
15. After winning the 1931 Transcontinental Handicap Air Sweepstakes, Phoebe is awarded with a horseshoe of roses. Minneapolis Public Library.
16. Phoebe Omlie, Free-for-All race winner at the National Air Races, 1931. Cleveland Press Collection, Cleveland State University Library.
17. Vernon and Phoebe Omlie circa mid-1930s. Phoebe Omlie Collection.
18. Phoebe Omlie meets with Amelia Earhart in Miami, 31 May 1937, the day before Earhart left on her fatal flight. Ninety-Nines Museum of Women Pilots, Oklahoma City.
19. Phoebe with Assistant Attorney General Stella Akin at Floyd Bennett Field as they leave for their Roosevelt campaign tour on 16 September 1936. Minneapolis Public Library.
20. Phoebe Omlie on the job. Minneapolis Public Library.
21. Phoebe Omlie stands with her plane Miss Memphis and her sweepstakes prize, a Cord Cabriolet automobile, after winning the 1931 Transcontinental Sweepstakes Derby. She and her dog pose in front of the family business at the Memphis Municipal Airport. Saint Louis University Special Collections.
Chapter Six
On 6 August 1936, “one of the famous romances of the air came to an end.” Phoebe received the devastating phone call in the early hours of the morning telling her that Vernon was dead; he had been killed in a plane crash. As she caught her breath, she asked: was he at the controls? They told her no, that Vernon had been a passenger on a commercial flight.1
He had bought a one-way ticket. Vernon was on his way to Detroit to pick up a new plane. The flight originated in New Orleans; he climbed aboard at Memphis, the only passenger traveling with the two pilots until they reached St. Louis. There, five more men boarded the late-night flight to Chicago. They took off from Lambert Field at 9:56 PM. Weather conditions were good: partly cloudy, a 2000-foot ceiling, overcast skies, moderate fog, visibility 1½ miles, and a 4 mph wind. Six minutes after takeoff, the plane did not respond to a radio call. Controllers tried querying airports along the way. No word. They later learned that less than ten minutes after take-off, the plane crashed in an open pasture, engines wide open, wing digging into the dirt at top speed until it broke apart, killing all eight aboard. The sleek modern three-month-old Lockheed Electra City of Memphis had been routinely inspected during its stopover at St. Louis; investigators found no apparent mechanical failure.2
It was four hours before a search party located the shattered Electra. All the bodies were thrown clear of the wreckage; the pilot’s watch had stopped at 10:02 PM. Given the condition of the wreckage, the best guess was that the pilot had become disoriented in the gathering ground fog over the Missouri River, made an attempt to turn back to Lambert Field, and had banked sharply to the left at full throttle while too near the ground. A wing-tip caught and tripped the plane into a cartwheel. The gear was retracted, indicating the pilot had not been trying to land. A full investigation led by Air Commerce director Eugene Vidal himself was unable to produce a better explanation than the one provided by Chicago and Southern Air Lines president Carleton Putnam: “It was one of those things that can’t happen but still did.”3
Captain Omlie had spent a lifetime in the air and was known as one of the most cautious fliers in the business. He had never crashed a ship in his entire career as a pilot. Articles about the tragedy noted the irony of Vernon meeting death as an air passenger on what was to have been a routine flight.4 “How the evil Fates must have chortled that Vernon Omlie, who had worked so long and hard to lay a foundation for transport aviation, should thus be taken,” his widow later wrote.5 Phoebe, a reporter noted, demonstrated her own “undaunted faith in aviation” by booking the first available flight home after learning of h
er husband’s fatal crash.6 Her mother and father flew in from Iowa City and his mother, sister, and brother joined his widow in Memphis. Vernon Omlie was buried in his Reserve Officers Flying Corps uniform with full military honors in a donated grave at Forest Hills Cemetery. His grave was banked with flowers, many in the shape of wings; a firing squad fired a military salute and an American Legion bugler sounded “Taps.”7 Thirteen private planes, draped in black and flown by Vernon’s friends, associates, and students, flew an aerial salute over the funeral party. One dropped roses. “Each gave the aviator’s wing salute, dipped low over the cemetery, and ‘went upstairs’ with struts singing a final farewell.”8
Walking on Air Page 13