Amelia

by Nancy Nahra

  The story explained that after Hoover presented Earhart with the gold medal, Congress made her the first woman to receive the Distinguished Flying Cross. The Times story recounts what had been a day of high-level visits including lunch at the White House.

  The afternoon’s honors had started with a stop at the United States Senate. According to the newspaper, Mrs. Putnam “stood in the well of the Senate chamber, one of the few women ever to enjoy the privilege of the floor.” Earhart’s presence was exceptional, considering that no woman had yet served in the legislative body.

  Just minutes later, Earhart was taken to the House of Representatives where she was cheered by its membership. After being dinner guests at the White House, Earhart and Putnam went to Constitution Hall with the president and the first lady. When President Hoover took his turn to speak, he concentrated on Earhart’s character as the explanation of her achievements and part of the American character: “She has been modest and good-humored. All these things combine to place her in spirit with the great pioneering women to whom every generation of Americans has looked up with admiration for their firmness of will, their strength of character, and their cheerful spirit of comradeship in the work of the world.”

  Even if she understated her own accomplishments, other people understood the depth of her bravery. As Vice President Charles Curtis put it, Earhart had shown “heroic courage and skill as a navigator at the risk of her life.” And she herself chose to frame her achievement as important for all women. In her view, the flight was proof that women were equal to men in “jobs requiring intelligence, coordination, speed, coolness, and willpower.”

  An experienced writer, Earhart knew how to adapt her brief comments to her audience and the occasion. In recognition of the values of the National Geographic Society, she rewarded listeners with details that would appeal to adventurers, including some pilots: “I am often asked if I was afraid at any time during the flight. The answer is that there was no time to be afraid. I was just too busy – and too interested in the problem at hand.”

  At the same time, she needed to show her awareness of the risks involved: “Flying a plane for five hours and more in storm, fog, and darkness is enough to keep a pilot quite occupied. And then with me there was the added complication of having my altimeter fail, so that after two hours out of Harbor Grace I never knew my exact height above sea level. A weld in the exhaust in the manifold began to burn through before midnight, which might have resulted seriously.”

  Her careful comments let her share with her listeners a sense of physical hardship, but, true to her upbringing, she did not complain; she offered a matter-of-fact description of a difficult experience. Finally, she had to be honest, admitting that, of course, the possibility of turning back had occurred to her: “Even if this trouble had been serious I could not have returned. The field at Harbor Grace is unlighted and difficult at best. To have turned back and attempted a landing in the dark would have meant an inevitable crack-up, with the added possibility of fire from my heavy gasoline load. Further difficulty during the night was the formation of ice on the plane when I tried to climb up on top of the bad weather. I had no choice but to keep below the altitude at which ice formed and above where I thought the water waited. And so I rather felt my way through the fog in this uncertain middle ground.”

  In a few words, she had summarized what she went through, and she told the audience what she considered just enough. With great skill, she saved for last the ideas she considered most important, not for glorifying her personal valor or achievement: “I believe regular transatlantic air service is inevitably coming. How soon depends on many factors, perhaps chief of which is airplane design. I shall be happy if my small exploit has drawn attention to the fact that women are flying, too.”

  Like its author’s feats, Putnam had arranged for Earhart’s book to break records for speed as it went through production, appearing in bookstores when the ink in the flight’s headlines was barely dry.

  After Earhart completed her manuscript, Putnam began arranging for good reviews. The review in The New York Times, appearing just a month after the flight, assured readers that the book was “intended solely for the reading of those who know little about aviation. Miss Earhart knows a great deal about it, especially as art and business, and her pages are full of the experiences. . . .”

  Amelia returned to America, triumphant from her transatlantic flight in May, but America’s euphoria continued for the rest of the year. Los Angeles was hosting the Summer Olympics. Earhart traveled to California for the event. Her dear friend and fellow pilot Gene Vidal had also flown out. They had worked together on NYPWA Airline; his interest in aviation had not flagged, nor had his interest in Earhart.

  The public wanted to know practical details about Earhart, including what she ate to keep herself strong and alert on a long solo flight. Her flying and eating habits did not change much over the years. Usually, she made sure to bring tomato juice, her favorite. For variety, she might drink hot chocolate or soup. Most of the time, she also had a hard-boiled egg. She preferred foods she could eat with one hand.

  At that time, the news media respected boundaries in reporting the private lives of famous people. That’s why the public did not read scandalous stories about the relationship between Earhart and Vidal.

  Of course, there were stories, unofficial and unconfirmed at the time. One such piece concerned the intimate subject of underwear.

  Newspapers always assumed that articles about a woman pilot had to include details of how she dressed. (Stories of Rugh Elder are full of fashion.) But some details of Earhart’s clothing were not for public consumption, at least not in her day. According to Earhart’s biographer Susan Butler, Amelia wore men’s underwear on her long flights. But there’s more to it, says Butler. She wore boxer shorts given her by Gene Vidal. Her choice had to do with comfort. Since she found it too embarrassing to buy boxers for herself, she asked Vidal.

  Other, more public evidence also points an intimate relationship with Vidal. Their attending the Olympics together fed the rumors, but gossipy stories about Earhart and a lover also had to compete with the accounts of her flight home after the Olympics. She set a new women’s record for the fastest non-stop transcontinental flight: Los Angeles to Newark in nineteen hours and five minutes.

  High-Flying Friends

  Earhart could have rested on her laurels, but what she wanted most was to set more records. Nevertheless, she always found time for what she considered fun, which now included some of the world’s most famous people, starting with Eleanor Roosevelt.

  Earhart heard from Mrs. Roosevelt months before they met. After her solo Atlantic crossing, it was Eleanor Roosevelt, rather than Franklin, who sent congratulations. He was governor of New York at the time, on his way to being elected president in November 1932. In those days, the inaugural ceremonies for the newly elected president and vice president were held in March, so by the time Earhart met Eleanor Roosevelt, she was living in the White House. The two women liked each other immediately, even before realizing how similar their ideas. Beyond that, Earhart was surprised at Mrs. Roosevelt’s interest in aviation. She wanted to go for a ride with Earhart. George Putnam loved the idea, sensing an opportunity for priceless publicity.

  Mrs. Roosevelt invited Earhart and Putnam to a formal White House dinner. Putnam, knowing in advance that the evening would include a plane ride, made a point of asking Earhart to dress in a minutely correct and formal way: a long gown, of course, but also gloves and a fancy wrap, again highlighting her womanly gentility for the reporters.

  Earhart had arranged the use of an airline plane, wanting her friend to be comfortable for the dramatic night flight, which went off without a hitch. Mrs. Roosevelt now had the zeal of a convert when it came to flying. Not only did she want to do it again, she also asked Earhart to make arrangements for her to have flying lessons so that she could get a pilot’s license.

  Earhart helped Mrs. Roosevelt through the formaliti
es, and by flying with her got her to the permit stage. She was making happy progress until it came to the next step, telling the president of her plans to earn a pilot’s license. After discussing the proposition, the sticking point came down to a baffling and characteristically male objection: The president said he saw no point in his wife getting a license because she couldn’t afford to buy a plane.

  Publicly, Mrs. Roosevelt remained a booster for aviation, and, with so much in common, Mrs. Roosevelt and Earhart remained friends. Earhart recognized her advantages over others who might have had designs on the same prize. It helped that Vidal was a West Point graduate, an athlete, and the son-in-law of a United States senator – for the time being.

  Even while promoting her new book, lecturing all across America, working to gain contacts who could help promote aviation, and opening new opportunities for women, Earhart still found time to set speed records for flying and to break one she had just recently set. In 1932, the same year she flew across the Atlantic, she set a new women’s record for crossing the United States: nineteen hours and four minutes. (Women’s records, as a category, were created because women weren’t allowed to compete with men.) The following year, Earhart flew west to east across the United States and, with the wind behind her, broke her own record, this time making the trip in seventeen hours, seven minutes, and thirty seconds.

  Postmaster Delivers Airmail

  Earhart’s transatlantic flights, just like Lindbergh’s, had been intended to help persuade the public and the government that airmail service was a reasonable and profitable endeavor. But that required support from Washington. Amelia and her colleagues at NYPWA found out what that battle meant by losing it.

  The decision about which airline or airlines got federal contracts belonged to the Postmaster General Walter F. Brown. Leaders at NYPWA, including Earhart, while priding themselves as turning a profit when no other airline had, also knew that they needed the air-mail contract – if their company was to survive. But Brown, who avoided competitive bids or shared contracts, decided to give the contract to Eastern airlines. That infusion of government support put Eastern solidly on its feet and guaranteed that NYPWA’s days were numbered. Eastern acquired it in February 1933.

  A Little Help from Her Friends

  Now Earhart looked for ways to give other people, especially women, the means to develop their talents. Her friend Eleanor Roosevelt shared many of Earhart’s beliefs, and did what she could to help.

  In September 1934, a conference at the Waldorf Astoria brought together professionals from a disparate set of disciplines. The naïve sounding title, the annual Conference on Current Problems, provided an umbrella that the participants understood. Each attendee dealt with some aspect of the largest problem that confronted American leaders and citizens in 1934: unemployment.

  Those attending included the United States Secretary of Labor, law enforcement officials, authors such as Pearl Buck, literary critics such as Clifton Fadiman, artists, several college presidents, secretary of the National Committee on Prisons, and Amelia Earhart.

  The Past in Ashes

  In many ways Earhart kept finding encouragement to focus on the future. Looking back at her own past became difficult after she lost some treasured memorabilia. Late in 1934, a fire at their home in Rye, New York destroyed some of Earhart’s girlhood souvenirs, including poems she had written and photographs from Kansas. Now more than ever she needed to keep her eyes ahead of her, ahead and above.

  Speed records, altitude records - she saw fewer all the time. And now there were more and more women pilots. New challenges lay farther from home. Early in 1935, Earhart became the first woman to fly solo from Honolulu to Oakland, California. Having flown the Atlantic, she now had her eye set on the Pacific.

  Amelia Earhart, so cheerful and usually uncritical, now felt confident enough to speak her mind to the press. The headline introducing a story in The New York Times on January 13, 1935, read, “Amelia’s Own Story of Her Flight Over Pacific: Her Greatest Hazard Was Adverse Criticism Before the Start – Never Experienced Any Nervousness - Weather Not ‘Really Bad.’”

  The newspaper of record dreamed up the headline, but everything else in the report came from Earhart herself and carried her byline. Straightforward and peppered with flashes of wit, she explained why she had begun the 2,408-mile flight almost in secret. “The final preparation was accomplished very cautiously,” she said. “I wanted to escape the fuss and crowds of a preannounced departure. It was easier to say no ‘Aloha.’” Later in the story came the comments that explained the headline: “I didn’t encounter really bad weather throughout the entire flight, and the greatest hazard I had to overcome was the criticism heaped on my head for even contemplating the flight [because several other aviators had died attempting it]. For this reason it was infinitely more difficult than my two Atlantic flights. The criticism I had received before taking off from Hawaii was entirely unwarranted and manifested itself in a physical strain more difficult than fatigue. Throughout the night I felt this, yet I never experienced actual nervousness.”

  She had flown the Vega 5B, the same plane she used to solo the Atlantic. It was so reliable that she dubbed it “Old Bessie, the fire horse.” Indeed, the flight was so smooth that Earhart, in the waning hours, had been able to relax and listen to a broadcast of the Metropolitan Opera from New York.

  By 1935, Earhart’s accomplishments as pilot had become almost routine in the public eye, but she had just flown her longest flight so far. The distance from Honolulu to Oakland, some 2,401 miles, exceeded her earlier flight from Canada to Ireland (2,026.5 miles), which had inspired greater celebration.

  That same year, 1935, Earhart set another record when she made the first solo flight from Mexico City to Newark, New Jersey, again in Old Bessie. Readers may not have remembered which flight she was talking about, but they would certainly remember the way she told the story of her tumultuous Newark welcome: “I was rescued from my plane by husky policemen . . . one of whom in the ensuing melee took possession of my right arm and another of my left leg . . . the arm-holder started to go one way, while he who clasped my leg set out in the opposite direction. The result provided the victim with a fleeting taste of the tortures of the rack. . . . It was fine to be home again.”

  Earhart’s description focuses on the humor of that story, but George Putnam was furious with the police. He expected better protection and security.

  Long before she reached Newark, crowds had been gathering at airports along the way, hoping to get a glimpse of her small red plane. Some of her admirers remembered that before Earhart’s flight only one pilot had attempted the same general path. In 1931, a young Mexican had begun in New York headed for Mexico City, despite warnings that bad weather lay ahead. He had flown only as far as New Jersey when severe thunder and lightning dashed his plans – and crashed his plane. He didn’t survive.

  Before that crash had faded from memory, an even worse accident happened, this one just three days before Earhart’s record-breaking flight from Mexico. Four people, including a United States senator, died when a plane traveling from New Mexico crashed.

  The drama surrounding that high-profile accident left many of Earhart’s admirers fearful for her safety. Mexico City itself - with its elevation of more than a mile above sea level - presented special challenges. Regular flying procedures had to be changed from the moment of takeoff. In an age when flight instruments were rare and sometimes inexact, pilot judgment was crucial. But Earhart transcended the technical difficulties as she made her successful and surprisingly fast flight.

  Records of earlier flights helped, particularly when she beat those records. Earhart knew, for example, that seven years earlier Charles Lindbergh had flown from Mexico City to Washington, D.C., and she had found out Lindbergh’s time, so when she flew over Washington she knew she had beaten him by almost fourteen hours.

  On the ground, Earhart’s friends, also aware of the earlier fatal crash, worried about her as the
y tracked her progress – and waited. At Hoover Airport in Washington, D.C., knowing that Earhart was not stopping there, a crowd gathered, hoping to see her fly over. Passing over that airport, Earhart acknowledged them by swooping over them, flashing a greeting with her plane’s navigation lights. Gene Vidal sent her a message by radio: “You’ve done a splendid job, so come down.” But Earhart could not take him up on it. Her polite reply was brief: “Thanks for the invitation. I am going through.”

  Earhart on Campus

  As Earhart’s reputation grew, admirers readily imagined ways to apply her fame in promoting causes beyond aviation. The president of Purdue University, Edward C. Elliott, had been in the audience when she spoke at the New York Conference on Current Problems.

  The day he met her in 1934, he invited her to come to Purdue and give a lecture to women students. In October, she was at the Lafayette, Indiana, campus, and her audience, equally eager, heard her present “Activities for Women After College.” Elliott kept in touch with her, and their conversations developed into negotiations; she signed a contract to join the university’s faculty.

  Earhart had two roles beyond her teaching. The awkward sound of one of her titles shows how new the enterprise was: Consultant in the Department for the Study of Careers for Women. And to put her technical expertise to use, Elliott made sure to give her another unusual appointment: Technical Advisor in Purdue’s Department of Aeronautics.

  He had known since September, the year before, when he heard her speak, that she could bring prestige to his expanding university. Earhart had been puzzled by the offer, since she lacked the traditional credentials for college teaching, but Elliott had a job description to go with his bold idea.