Before Amelia (35 page)

Hot coffee and scrambled eggs restored the pilot, who had to be helped, numb from the cold, to a waiting automobile for the short ride into town. An hour and fourteen minutes later, with a full gas tank, she was off for the next stop, Binghamton. Ruth hoped to push on from there, but as daylight faded, unable to read her instruments in the dark, she decided to stop at Binghamton for the night. Spotting a racetrack, she landed just as Samuel Davis of the Glad-Hand Committee drove by. Davis, totally thrilled to meet the aviator, gave her a ride into town once the Curtiss was tied to a tree for the night with a police officer to guard it. It had been a good day of flying in spite of the morning delay. The distance covered nonstop was an American record, and she had broken the world's record for continuous flight by a woman. Only one person in the world had flown farther: Sub-Lieutenant A. Marchal, who flew from Nancy, France, to Chelm, Poland, a distance of 812.5 miles. If only the engine had started earlier, but Ruth gave up thoughts of what might have been and concentrated on dinner and a good night's sleep.

The following day, sensational headlines hailed Ruth's triumph. Two points, in particular, were stressed: the age of the aeroplane (an old model Curtiss and small at that), and Ruth had paid all expenses. In her comments to the press, Ruth was confident the flight from Chicago to New York could be made nonstop. She would try again as soon as she could get a bigger machine. Obviously happy she had done so well, better than the man, she hastened to say the fact that she was a woman didn't make any difference. “I suppose I ought to say that I am in favor of woman suffrage—but what has that got to do with it?” If she was hoping the headlines would play down “the little girl” aspect, she was wrong. Her youth and sex were emphasized.

New Englander Ruth Law seated on a Curtiss, the model used for her longdistance flight.
INTERNATIONAL WOMEN'S AIR AND SPACE MUSEUM

An editorial in the
New York Times
backed up Ruth's view. “Aviatrice” or “aviatrix” were good words for Miss Law, but since she had showed all the qualities—“courage, endurance, skill, sense of direction and position”—required for navigation of the air, “there is no necessity, and hardly an excuse, for giving her a name that emphasizes the fact, professionally irrelevant, of sex.” Unquestionably, she belongs “in the rank of the great aviators.”

The editor had one criticism: “It was, however, a serious oversight for her not to take along something to eat on the way. Food, judiciously selected, would have made her task far less exhausting, and helped her to endure the cold of the upper airs.” All true, but space on the Curtiss was limited, any food would probably have frozen, and Ruth was so bundled that just working the levers was difficult. Eating would have been impossible.

The next morning at 7:23, Ruth was off on the last lap of her flight, landing at 9:37:35, the official time according to Aero Club records, at Governor's Island. The flight from Chicago totaled eight hours, fifty-five minutes, and thirty-five seconds, faster than any other form of transportation could accomplish. Numb from the cold, she remained still for several moments after her aeroplane stopped; then Aero Club officials undid her seat belt and helped her down. Slowly removing gloves, helmet and mask, she gave a big smile, despite stiff lips and a face blue with cold. Walking briskly for several paces until the circulation in her feet quickened, she collected her skirt and climbed into the automobile waiting to carry her to the quarters of Major and Mrs. Carl F. Hartmann, where she washed and powdered her face, and had breakfast.

During breakfast, the “Queen of the Air” described what was almost a near miss. Starting from Binghamton, she neglected to refill the gas tanks in her haste to depart. Flying low through morning fog, she had difficulty finding her landmarks, relying first on the Susquehanna River, then, to the east, the Delaware, and finally the Hudson. As she reached Manhattan, the machine started to cough. Remembering that one tank was placed too low to feed any more gas once it got down to two or three inches in the tank, she dipped down to coax gas into the carburetor, then leveled until the next dip to keep the motor working. Using almost the last gas, she rose higher to have room to glide down with the wind and land on the island. “One hundred and twenty-five pounds of nerve and pluck” was Aero Club president Alan R. Hawley's description of Ruth. He had it right.

Meeting with reporters after breakfast, she was asked, “You have made the longest flight a woman ever made, haven't you?” Her reply was pointed: “I have made the longest flight an American ever made.” For her it was a warm-up for another try to fly Chicago to New York in one day, or even a transcontinental flight. Aero Club was offering a prize of twenty thousand dollars for such a flight. Ruth thought it was doable in three or four days, a definite improvement over Cal Rodgers's forty-nine-day trip in 1911.

There were accolades and honors galore. Aero Club held a reception on the afternoon of November 23; on December 2, Ruth was guest of honor at a dinner at the Waldorf-Astoria, attended by President and Mrs. Woodrow Wilson, celebrating the lighting of Miss Liberty; on December 18, another dinner in her honor, luminous with dignitaries—including the discoverers of the North and South poles—was given by the New York Civic Forum and the Aero Club of America at the Hotel Astor with Rear Admiral Robert E. Peary as toastmaster. “America's premier aviator”—the title bestowed by
Scientific American
—was presented with a check for twenty-five hundred dollars by Aero Club in appreciation of her achievement and its furthering of aviation. Victor Carlstrom, who could not be present, was presented with a gold watch.

More than one dinner speaker pointed to the flight's beneficial effects: American machines and motors were shown to be capable (even ordinary ones)—no special equipment was needed for success; distance flights were not a circus stunt but a serious extension of aviation; and the popular mind was encouraged to consider a career in aviation. Of all the speakers, perhaps Eleanor Gates, an ardent feminist, caught the spirit of the evening best in her comments as reported in
Flying.
“It is easy to get a dinner if you are a man. You get one if you are a such-and-such degree Mason, or a naughty Elk, or just because it's time to have another dinner. But for a woman to sit in glory at the Hotel Astor she must do something superhuman.”

By now, Ruth's flying ability was legend. Only weeks before, on the evening of December 2, memorable for the lighting of the Statue of Liberty, she had looped over Miss Liberty as the floodlights came on for the first time ever. It was a glorious celebration with President Wilson, Mayor John P. Mitchel, French Ambassador Jules Jusserand, and the Atlantic Fleet present, plus the countless thousands who watched from every vantage point. Thanks to Henry Doherty and George Williams of Cities Service, an electric utility company, with an assist from Ralph Pulitzer, publisher of the
World,
New York threw a grand party for the statue, now transformed from “night shrouded bulk” into a “Glorious Goddess,” permanently ablaze with freedom's message.

Ruth's part entailed carrying a heavy load of electric lights under the wings to spell out “liberty” and magnesium flares on the wing tips, all of which would light up on cue when the floodlights came on. Getting up was a concern, but the Curtiss made it, flying in “a bright rain of fire” that thrilled the cheering thousands on ships and shore. The cheering continued up the length of Manhattan as the president and dignitaries made their way to the Waldorf-Astoria. At the dinner that followed, Ruth was on the dais with the honored guests.

Among those seated with Ruth that night was Ralph Pulitzer. It was a fortuitous meeting. On January 12, 1917, Pulitzer and Ruth initialed an agreement that provided financial assistance from the
World
if Ruth succeeded in purchasing a European aeroplane superior in speed and carrying capacity than existing American types. The newspaper would pay for the expense of the European trip, the cost of the machine, and expenses incurred in a proposed transcontinental flight from the Pacific Coast to New York before July 1, for a sum not to exceed ten thousand dollars. All information and interviews resulting from such a flight would belong exclusively to the
World.
The aeroplane would remain the property of the newspaper until the completion of the flight, whereupon title would pass to Ruth as compensation for her services. If permission could be obtained, Ruth would make a flight between London and Paris under the auspices of the
World
before returning from Europe.

Ruth and her husband left for Europe on January 14, where the reality of war soon ended any hopes of acquiring an aeroplane. At Liverpool her baggage was checked carefully when she said she was in the flying business. A scrapbook with clippings about night flights and dropping bombs aroused more suspicion—she might be a spy—and her party was held incommunicado at Liverpool until a cable to New York established it was safe to allow her on English soil. Leaving her luggage in London, she went on to Paris, where it was immediately obvious that French aeroplanes were not being sold for export.

A visit to Le Bourget, described in the
World,
left Ruth impressed with the advances in French aviation. It was a city of hangars, each capable of housing scores of machines, where every type of flying craft used at the front was seen. The newest and smallest machine, resembling a hummingbird, was flown for her benefit. Instead of a long bill, it had a machine gun that fired through the propeller. She did succeed in flying over Paris in a Morane-Saulnier monoplane, which she would have bought if this had been possible. It was light, sleek, with a motor superior to any in America, capable of making a fast, steep climb. Flying at several thousand feet, Ruth leaned over the side to look down and discovered the speed of the aeroplane. She lost her breath for an instant, felt as if her head would come off, and discovered later the powder on her nose was gone, yet sitting behind the windscreen was comfortable; speed and wind pressure were not noticeable. Before returning to the ground, Ruth had the aeroplane stand on one wing, dive, and spiral to show its stuff, an exhibition that left her an ardent admirer of French aviation.

Returning on April 4, by way of Spain to avoid possible submarine attack, Ruth sang the praises of French aviation. French aeroplanes were lighter, easier to handle, and capable of greater speed. “Just think of those Morane machines getting up 6,000 feet in seven minutes. . . . Many of them could climb almost 1,000 feet a minute—and it took me an hour and a half to get up to 12,000 in my little old biplane, when I made the altitude record. Our materials and bodies should be refined and lightened.” She couldn't buy an aeroplane, but she had seen the tremendous effort put forth by the English and French to defeat the enemy, met the boys of the Lafayette Escadrille, and chatted with Lieutenant Georges Guynemer, an ace with more than thirty aeroplanes to his credit and gave Ruth a ring fashioned from the button of a German airman's coat. She also brought back with her a French trench dog, named Poilu, who was photographed with Ruth in all the newspapers.

Two days later the United States declared war on Germany. Like Katherine Stinson, Ruth was eager to serve in any way possible, preferably flying overseas. That was not to be. Instead, she flew to promote recruitment, the Liberty Loan Drive, and the Red Cross Ambulance Service. She bombed Midwest cities and Army camps, dropping leaflets and paper bombs urging people to subscribe to the Liberty Loan by buying bonds. Flying over cities in Ohio and landing at rallies in city parks prompted an outpouring of giving; the Ohio National Guardsmen gave a whopping $1,421,500, an average of $59.18 a head. From Ohio, she went to Nebraska, Kansas, and Missouri, touching down in Oklahoma, before swinging back to St. Louis and the cities of Illinois en route to Chicago, on a strenuous ten-day tour. The paper bombs she dropped bore a message on each side: “A Liberty Bond in your home or a German bomb on your home! Which is
your
choice? Mine was a bond. Buy yours today. Ruth Law.” On the reverse was: “If you can't fight, your money can buy a Liberty Bond to keep off German bombs. Buy your bond today. Ruth Law.” Everywhere, people responded to this novel appeal from the sky.

In July, Ruth persuaded Major Franklin Henney, the army's chief recruiting officer in Chicago, that flying exhibitions might stimulate recruiting. Wearing an army uniform by special permission, she made night flights as part of a special one-week drive by British and American forces to sign up young men for the service. Fastened to the lower part of her machine was a sign twenty-eight feet by four feet with brilliant electric letters spelling out “Enlist.” That plus the showering of magnesium flares from the tips of the wings was an eye-catching display for the crowds in Grant Park. Wherever she flew that year, the “Enlist” message drew crowds of people eagerly scrambling for the white cards dropped from the sky. Millions of people got the message; Ruth had the satisfaction of encouraging thousands to join the army, many of them trying for the Aviation Service. By early 1918 the Aviation Service had more volunteers than it could handle with its limited amount of equipment.