Before Amelia (28 page)

For the next two weeks, Matilde was in Chicago, a city she remembered well, strictly as an observer of the aerial antics at the Chicago Air Meet. Traveling by train, she was interviewed by the
Findley Republican
in Ohio about her ideas, as one of a select group, on women's dress. She believed aviation would likely affect the style of dress; tight skirts which prevent the female pilot from climbing into the aeroplane are out; wide skirts that balloon in the wind are too dangerous; genuine women fliers will wear boots and trousers, “but the fashionable devotees will probably wear modified skirts.” Helmets and the Russian double–breasted blouses are likely favorites to be copied. Matilde's new prominence made her an expert on everything feminine.

On her return to New York, plans were in the works for an international aviation meet to be held at Nassau Boulevard, which promised the appearance of four women pilots for the first time ever, the entrance of a Moisant–built Farman capable of carrying eight passengers in the passenger–carrying contests, and the presence of Louis Dubrow, automobile driver, in an aeroplane pace–making race—with a first prize of six hundred dollars and four hundred dollars for second place. There was keen interest in how well the monoplanes and biplanes would perform against each other. While the appearance of four women in the air was definitely noteworthy, the advertisements played up the presence of the “world famous aviators” Claude Grahame–White, Harry Atwood, Earle Ovington, T.O.M. Sopwith, and George Beatty— all men. Before the opening of the meet, Matilde practiced on a Moisant monoplane fitted with a fifty–horsepower Gnome engine known as the “Mile–a–Minute Machine.” The engine's power enabled her to climb to a reported height of between fifteen hundred and two thousand feet on a day when no other aviators went up.

On September 23 the Nassau meet got off to a good start, featuring speed races, which were always popular with the public, Ovington's mail delivery at the Mineola post office—more than thirty pounds of letters from a height of two hundred feet—and altitude contests. Matilde appeared, dressed in a gray sweater and a leather helmet, which made her indistinguishable in the air, the reporters noted, unlike Harriet Quimby, the previous day, whose long scarf identified her as she circled the field. Stepping into her monoplane, Matilde shot upward in a cloud of smoke and soared in wide circles to a height of twelve hundred feet to win the Rodman Wanamaker Trophy, offered for “members of the fair sex.” Her flight lasted thirty–one minutes. Americans were impressed by her performance, unaware that Melli Beese, in Germany, had soared more than twenty–four hundred feet that same week and chalked up an endurance record of two hours, nine minutes, in competition with men. The first American women pilots could not match this performance.

The meet was notable for the contest between the upholder of Sunday blue laws, the Episcopal Bishop Burgess of Garden City, and the promoter of the aviation meet, Timothy L. Woodruff, who considered flying a harmless entertainment. Sheriff Charles DeMott's threat to arrest anyone who flew on Sunday during the meet provoked much comment among the fliers. One flier, showing total disregard for authority, jumped into an aeroplane and took off—Matilde Moisant. Rising quickly, she flew in circles above the three deputy sheriffs' heads, waving her hand now and then at the glitter of stars on the field below.

A Keystone Cops sequence followed, with Matilde heading for the Moisant School at Mineola and the sheriff 's deputies following by auto. After landing, Matilde waited in Alfred's car for the next scene. The unfortunate deputies had not reckoned with Alfred, who threatened to arrest them for trespassing, since they lacked a proper warrant for dealing with Tillie. The aviation crowd on the field muttered unfriendly comments, and in the next instant a shoving match ensued, when the deputies tried to seize Matilde. Matilde fled to another auto and left the field, followed by the deputies and Alfred in separate automobiles. It was grand comedy!

When the three deputies arrived at the home of Justice of the Peace Gittens at Hempstead to get a warrant for Miss Moisant, the justice asked: “What has she done?” “Flying on Sunday” was the answer. The justice replied that he could not see that flying was any worse than riding on the ground in an automobile and refused to issue the warrant. Matilde's adventure was cartoon material in several papers. The conflict continued to simmer locally, but the blue laws, generally, had little success preventing Sunday flying.

Early in October, Matilde shared her ideas on flying in an interview in the
New York Evening Sun.
She was never afraid when getting ready to go up or when actually flying. Matilde promised herself that the moment she had a nervous spell while flying she would give it up. “I know my limitations and I am not going to risk my life by trying to do just a little bit more than I realize I am able to do—neither to please myself or the public.” She insisted that an aviator must know when not to go up as well as how to fly; the person who ignores the hoots and jeers of the crowd goading him to fly doesn't have “cold feet”; he has good sense.

As a beginner, Matilde knew she had much to learn. Fortunately, she never had a motor go dead in the air, but to be prepared she wanted Sopwith to give her a lesson on how to act “when your engine stops dead.” Despite her spunkiness, Matilde had a clear head about flying, which is one reason she lived to a good age.

On November 1, Matilde sailed with the Moisant group en route to Mexico City for an aviation meet to celebrate the inauguration of President–elect Madero. Brother Alfred would arrive within a week to open the new Mexican Army Aviation School, which would be equipped with six Moisant monoplanes and two Moisant military–type biplanes, the first American–made machines in Mexico.

The newspaper
El Imparcial,
one of the sponsors of the meet, featured daily articles on the aviation activities. A smiling Matilde, seated on her machine was front–page news. A headline blared: “Aviation Field Taken by Assault, The Public Invaded the Field Hoping to See Close–up the Lady Pilots and Their Machines.” The aviators had good publicity each day, but as the days went by, it was clear that the meet faced stiff competition from the horse races, the bullfight, and the overall confusion resulting from a chaotic political situation. The expected crowds were not there.

On opening day the crowd was about two thousand, probably the peak for the run of the meet. Some days the attendance was a disappointing eight or nine hundred, which added to the tribulations the fliers countered. Atmospheric conditions at Valbuena were difficult, altitude affected the engines, and the fliers complained that more wind or moisture was needed to get their machines off the ground. Matilde had trouble landing on the first day and smashed part of her machine. There were long delays between flights, prompting the smallish crowd to depart early, and on a bad day the total time in the air was barely thirty minutes. As the days went on, the public's impatience and disappointment did not help the word–of–mouth publicity that usually brings crowds.

Despite these conditions, the fliers did their best to create excitement. Alberto Braniff finally got his Farman off the ground for two short flights of precisely one minute and two minutes. Matilde made several good flights, including one reportedly of more than two thousand feet, lasting twenty minutes, and concluded with a graceful, clean landing. The crowd applauded wildly as she drove past the grandstand in the
El Imparcial
automobile. When weather conditions canceled flights, unhappy spectators were given rain checks.

Rodolfo Gaona, star of the corrida, came to the field near the end of the meet, posed for pictures with George Dyott, and went up as a passenger in Dyott's Deperdussin machine to experience for himself the “majestic silence and supreme quiet of space” that the poet D'Annunzio found so moving. For aviators and spectators alike, the flight rescued some brilliance from an otherwise lackluster meet.

When the exhibition ended, there was a general feeling of relief. The exhibition group disbanded, leaving Matilde, Harriet Quimby, and André Houpert to carry on the Moisant meets ar ranged in other cities. The fliers with mechanics and aeroplanes traveled by train to Guadalajara and Leön for appearances. Aviation was too primitive to allow flights to the next destination.

Again, there was trouble with balky motors. Harriet made a respectable showing, taking off first, after much tinkering with the motor, to be followed shortly by Matilde. This time the motor stopped just after takeoff and the monoplane crashed on the ground in pieces. Luckily, Matilde escaped without injury. After two days of nonflying weather, Harriet departed for New York, leaving Houpert and Matilde to carry on. Six days later the aeroplane reconstructed, Matilde braved treacherous air currents, not wanting to disappoint the waiting crowd. Houpert warned against a flight in such wind, but Matilde, asserting her own mind, went up.

Houpert was right. Maneuvering in such air currents felt “just like a little rowboat out in a heavy sea. First I'd go way up, and then I'd come way down, just as if they were pulling me down, and then letting it go,” until the last push caused the propeller to hit the ground, upending the aeroplane. Matilde threw herself back in the machine, and that bit of weight threw the tail back. “That's the only thing that saved me,” she confided years later. Another repair job was called for.

The exhibition in Leön ended, and the next stop, at Torreön, was canceled; revolutionary forces were too close for comfort. Partisan armies encircled the city as one faction battled another in the increasing political anarchy. Remembering that time, Matilde said, “We just got out. They burned the bridges after we left.”

The train didn't get very far—it was sidetracked when rebel forces circled Torreön in the escalating battle in the state of Chihuahua between contending parties. For almost two weeks, the party was stranded inside their Pullman car. Thanks to Matilde's knowledge of Spanish, the group survived on food and water she brought in daily. Factional fighting was nothing new to her after her years in Central America, but the uncertainty of the situation was stressful. It brought out the best in Matilde, however. Houpert, who had watched her in numerous risky situations, credited her with bringing them safely from Mexico: “Few men could have managed our affairs as well in Mexico, and had it not been for the cool–headedness of our little woman manager, we would have gotten into serious complications at the city of Torreón.”

The next several months were no less eventful. An appearance at New Orleans was scheduled for early March. Capricious weather caused a delay until March 9. Houpert and Matilde used the extra days to advertise the show and attract a crowd. Houpert flew over the city and brought traffic to a standstill, as John Moisant had done before his last flight. Opening day's high winds forced cancelation of the show for the small crowd that had braced the weather to see the fliers. Finally, on March 9, the weather cleared; a flight could be made.

A reporter for the
Times–Picayune
described the scene. Matilde walked onto the field “wearing a long grey coat, her flying cap in one hand and goggles in the other.” The crowd cheered, photographers descended upon her, and the “quintessential ‘g irl flyer'” posed for pictures. Her qualities noted by one reporter made her irresistible to the public: “as womanly a woman as ever lived ... attractive, beautiful, demure yet vivacious and highly entertaining.” She spoke her mind, but not too aggressively, and she flew with the same nerve as her brother John.

The crowd was not disappointed. “Matilde Moisant flew her great Blériot over the same ground as her brother had. ... Several thousand people at the city park race were thrilled by her skill and daring maneuvers.” (Matilde's machine was a monoplane, but it was a Moisant model, not a Blériot.) The finale was a flying duet with Houpert that thrilled the spectators below—everyone except her sister Louise, who traveled with Matilde regularly but disapproved of her sister's flying and refused to watch her perform.

Shreveport was next on the tour arranged by Alfred, who had disapproved of Matilde's flying commercially but was not above using her to promote the Moisant aeroplanes. Again, the weather was not cooperative. Heavy rain inundated the ground, leading Matilde to comment: “They call us birds but we're not ducks.” She promised the press she would fly as soon as possible. Two days later the heavens cleared and Matilde gave the public quite a show.

The popular Matilde Moisant poses with one of her family's Moisant aeroplanes. Besides building planes, her family founded a fiying school on Long Island and had a touring company named the Moisant International Aviators.
NATIONAL AIR AND SPACE MUSEUM, SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION

This time a golf course became an improvised flying field. As Matilde described the scene years later, from above, the rises didn't appear threatening, but as she prepared to come down, she realized there could be a problem with the slope. “I knew I couldn't do it in front of it, but I thought I might do it over....I just came like that, right in it, and it threw my machine right over, and I came right down.” One wheel struck the slope, flipping the machine into the air before it landed upside down. Again, Matilde survived. She crawled out from under the machine to the cheers from the crowd, saved by the iron support for the guy wires, which kept the engine and crankshaft from crushing her. It was her second serious fall in three months, but Matilde appeared confident in public. Privately, she was having second thoughts about flying, prompted, certainly, by Louise's mounting concern.