Fly girls How five daring women defied all odds and made aviation history

Review by New York Times Review

on the spines of books everywhere, "girls" are sticking with all the tenacity of a chewed piece of bubble gum. As the author of one such book whose title includes the word "girl" - a term even I find grating - I can offer only this defense to beleaguered readers: Contained within the woefully misapplied noun is a reminder that for much of American history, grown women were not merely called girls, but frequently treated like helpless children. In Keith O'Brien's exhilarating "Fly Girls," the title stands in reverence not to misplaced nostalgia but to the female aviators who were hindered by the deep gender inequities that defined the golden age of flying. These are women few of us have heard of before, with the exception of Amelia Earhart, whose saga shines so brightly that it nearly blinds us to all other pioneering female pilots. As O'Brien explains of their forgotten histories, "each of the women went missing in her own way." Their numbers were not large; while many wished to fly in the 1920s and 1930s, few could feasibly do so. In 1928, among the 29 million women living in the United States, fewer than a dozen held pilot's licenses. There were fewer women licensed to fly than there were female construction workers, electricians and police officers. Those who did pilot aircraft were frequently mocked and then disregarded. The fliers garnered such a plethora of nicknames that at times the book reads like an encyclopedia of degradation: "petticoat pilots," "ladybirds," "flying flappers," "powder puffs" and, of course, "fly girls." O'Brien distills the attraction of such insults, writing, "A woman with a good plane and a bold plan was impossible to ignore - and easy to disparage." Five of these "fly girls" provide the basis of the text: Ruth Nichols, Louise Thaden, Ruth Elder, Florence Klingensmith and Earhart. Their backgrounds and experiences are distinct: Nichols is a New York debutante, Thaden sells coal in Wichita, Elder is concealing her divorce, Klingensmith is working on airplane engines and Earhart is running out of options in Boston. Yet physical characterizations of the women tend to run together. One is "blond and young," another "young, tall and slender," still another, "younger and prettier, flirtatious and Southern." Their clothing is frequently described by how it drapes the body, whether a dress is "low-backed" or a sweater is "tight." For women whose achievements were discounted based on their sex, the frequency of skin-deep descriptions feels jarring, and occasionally makes it difficult to keep track of the characters. These superficialities nonetheless give way to vibrant accounts of airplane racing, with the women speeding around the country, crossing oceans, making fantastic turns around hazardous pylons and flying so high into the air that they carry oxygen tanks beside them. Each struggles for opportunity - begging sponsors, borrowing planes, dealing with unscrupulous organizers, and taking risks equal to those of their male colleagues - but with fewer rewards to tempt them. O'Brien's prose reverberates with fiery crashes, then stings with the tragedy of lives lost in the cockpit and sometimes, equally heartbreakingly, on the ground. Their sacrifices were not squandered. As O'Brien puts it, "From the beginning, all the women had been connected, whether they liked it or not, building on one another's successes, saddled with one another's failures and pressing on together." The exploits of these daring pilots led to the formation of the Ninety-Nines, an early organization of female aviators, as well as the inclusion of female pilots in the military and, eventually, space exploration. "More will gain admittance as a greater number knock at the door," Earhart once explained, adding, "If and when you knock at the door, it might be well to bring an ax along; you may have to chop your way through." NATHALIA holt is the author, most recently, of "Rise of the Rocket Girls."

Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [August 23, 2019]

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Review by Booklist Review

Air races captivated the nation during the golden age of aviation in the 1920s and 1930s, and few participants drew more attention than the female pilots who challenged the male-dominated field. O'Brien focuses on five of those women: Ruth Elder, Ruth Nichols, Louise Thaden, Florence Klingensmith, and, of course, Amelia Earhart. In profiling these aviatrixes he explores their flying careers from the beginning, showing how varied their backgrounds and personal circumstance were and what attracted each of them to the sport of air racing. Drawing heavily from contemporaneous news reports, the author documents their achievements and setbacks as well as their sometimes complicated romantic relationships. The narrative flows easily from one subject to the next as O'Brien shifts between them, showing their competitive spirit and camaraderie even in the face of the trying circumstances of the first Women's Air Derby in 1929. Although Earhart's story has been recounted numerous times, the addition of the other female pilots makes for a more thorough and enjoyable read that should appeal to readers interested in history, aviation, and women's achievements.--Colleen Mondor Copyright 2018 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Journalist O'Brien (Outside Shot) tells the exciting story of aviators who, though they did not break the aviation industry's glass ceiling, put a large crack in it. He focuses mostly on five important fliers: Louise Thaden, a studious pilot, mother, and wife; Ruth Nichols, who was brave and willing to do anything to be the best; Amelia Earhart, the smartest of the bunch, with average flying ability, but the weight of powerful money behind her; Ruth Elder, gorgeous and bright, who went on to star in films; and Florence Klingensmith, a high school dropout and a naturally talented pilot and mechanic who could challenge the men head-to-head in speed racing. They fought against rudimentary technology, severe weather, and undermining men to accomplish their goals. Primary among their many antagonists in this account is Cliff Henderson, millionaire promoter and organizer of the national air races, who first manipulates women to promote his sport and then has them banned from competing in it. The women's victorious fight against his ban opens the door to even greater success and recognition as equals to men in the air. This fast-paced, meticulously researched history will appeal to a wide audience both as an entertaining tale of bravery and as an insightful look at early aviation. Agent: Richard Abate, 3 Arts Entertainment. (Aug.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by Library Journal Review

In the 1920s and 1930s, the nation was gripped by air race fever. These extremely dangerous races, both short distance and cross country, drew tens of thousands of spectators, even during the Great Depression. While the 19th Amendment granted American women the right to vote in 1920, accomplished aviators Amelia Earhart, Ruth Nichols, Louise Thaden, Ruth Elder, and Florence Klingensmith knew earning this right was no true guarantee of gender equality. These passionate female aviators refused to be marginalized to the "Powder Puff Derby" and waged PR campaigns to be included in races with the men. O'Brien (Catching the Sky) portrays the plight of the "fly girls," as they were dismissively called, as they fought for the same opportunities as men in the fledgling aviation industry. Despite the number of subjects and events covered, O'Brien's narrative flows smoothly, and Erin Bennett deftly switches pace as she relates the compelling backgrounds of the women, the excitement of the races, and the tragedy that often followed. Despite the horror of the numerous crashes, this story is ultimately an inspiring tribute to these brave females who refused to accept the "you don't belong here" rebuke from a sneering patriarchal society. VERDICT This thrilling title should have wide appeal, especially to those interested in gender equality, history, and aviation. ["Highly recommended for readers with an interest in aviation history, women's history, cultural history, and 20th-century history": LJ 6/15/18 starred review of the Houghton Harcourt hc.]-Beth Farrell, Cleveland State Univ. Law Lib. © Copyright 2018. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

In the decades between the world wars, women took to the skies as daring, record-breaking fliers.Drawing on abundant sources, including letters, published and unpublished memoirs, newspaper reports, and archival material from more than a dozen museums and historical collections, O'Brien (Outside Short: Big Dreams, Hard Times, and One County's Quest for Basketball Greatness, 2013) has fashioned a brisk, spirited history of early aviation focused on 5 irrepressible women. Amelia Earhart was the most famous among them, but the others were no less passionate and courageous: Louise McPhetridge Thaden, tall, stately, and, even as a child, "a follower of boyish pursuits," according to her mother; Ruth Nichols, who chafed at a future as the socialite daughter of wealthy parents; Ruth Elder, determined to be the first woman to fly across the Atlantic; and Florence Klingensmith, who trained as a mechanic so she could learn planes inside and out but whose first aviation job was as a stunt girl, standing on a wing in her bathing suit. In 1928, when women managed to get jobs in other male dominated fields, fewer than 12 had a pilot's license, and those ambitious for prizes and recognition faced entrenched sexism from the men who ran air races, backed fliers, and financed the purchase of planes. They decided to organize: "For our own protection," one of them said, "we must learn to think for ourselves, and do as much work as possible on our planes." Although sometimes rivals in the air, they forged strong friendships and offered one another unabated encouragement. O'Brien vividly recounts the dangers of early flight: In shockingly rickety planes, pilots sat in open cockpits, often blinded by ice pellets or engine smoke; instruments were unreliable, if they worked at all; sudden changes in weather could be life threatening. Fliers regularly emerged from their planes covered in dust and grease. Crashes were common, with planes bursting into flames; but risking injury and even death failed to dampen the women's passion to fly. A vivid, suspenseful story of women determined to defy gravityand mento fulfill their lofty dreams. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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The Miracle of Witchita The coal peddlers west of town, on the banks of the Arkansas River, took note of the new saleswoman from the moment she appeared outside the plate-glass window. It was hard not to notice Louise McPhetridge. She was young, tall, and slender, with distinct features that made her memorable if not beautiful. She had a tangle of brown hair, high cheekbones, deep blue eyes, thin lips programmed to smirk, and surprising height for a woman. At five foot eight and a quarter inches ​-- ​ she took pride in that quarter inch ​-- ​McPhetridge was usually the tallest woman in the room and sometimes taller than the cowboys, drifters, cattlemen, and businessmen she passed on the sidewalks of Wichita, Kansas. But it wasn't just how she looked that made her remarkable to the men selling coal near the river; it was the way she talked. McPhetridge was educated. She'd had a couple years of college and spoke with perfect grammar. Perhaps more notable, she had a warm Southern accent, a hint that she wasn't from around Wichita. She was born in Arkansas, two hundred and fifty miles east, raised in tiny Bentonville, and different from most women in at least one other way: Louise was boyish. That's how her mother put it. Her daughter, she told others, "was a follower of boyish pursuits" ​-- ​and that wasn't meant as a compliment. It was, for the McPhetridges, cruel irony. Louise's parents, Roy and Edna, had wanted a boy from the beginning. They prayed on it, making clear their desires before the Lord, and they believed their faith would be rewarded. "Somehow," her mother said, "we were sure our prayers would be answered." The McPhetridges had even chosen a boy's name for the baby. And then they got Louise. Edna could doll her daughter up in white dresses as much as she wanted; Louise would inevitably find a way to slip into pants or overalls and scramble outside to get dirty. She rounded up stray dogs. She tinkered with the engine of her father's car, and sometimes she joined him on his trips selling Mentholatum products across the plains and rural South, work that had finally landed the McPhetridges here in Wichita in the summer of 1925 and placed Louise outside the coal company near the river. It was a hard time to be a woman looking for work, with men doing almost all the hiring and setting all the standards. Even for menial jobs, like selling toiletries or cleaning houses, employers in Wichita advertised that they wanted "attractive girls" with pleasing personalities and good complexions. "Write, stating age, height, weight and where last employed." The man who owned the coal company had different standards, however. Jack Turner had come from England around the turn of the century with nothing but a change of clothes and seven dollars in his pocket. He quickly lost the money. But Turner, bookish and bespectacled in round glasses, made it back over time by investing in horses and real estate and the city he came to love. "Wichita," he said, "is destined to become a metropolis of the plains." By 1925, people went to him for just about everything: hay, alfalfa, bricks, stove wood, and advice. While others were still debating the worth of female employees, Turner argued as early as 1922 that workers should be paid what they were worth, no matter their gender. He predicted a future where men and women would be paid equally, based on skill ​-- ​where they would demand such a thing, in fact. And with his worldly experience, Turner weighed in on everything from war to politics. But he was known, most of all, for coal. "Everything in Coal," his advertisements declared. In winter, when the stiff prairie winds howled across the barren landscape, the people of Wichita came to Turner for coal. In summer, they did too. It was never too early to begin stockpiling that vital fuel, he argued. "Coal Is Scarce," Turner told customers in his ads. "Fill Your Coal Bin Now." He hired Louise McPhetridge not long after she arrived in town, and she was thankful for the work. For a while, McPhetridge, just nineteen, was able to stay focused on her job, selling the coal, selling fuel. But by the following summer, her mind was wandering, following Turner out the door, down the street, and into a brick building nearby, just half a block away. The sign outside was impossible to miss. travel air airplane mfg. co., it said. aerial transportation to all points. It was a humble place, squat and small, but the name, Travel Air, was almost magical, and the executive toiling away on the factory floor inside was the most unusual sort. He was a pilot.   Walter Beech was just thirty-five that summer, but already he was losing his hair. His long, oval face was weathered from too much time spent in an open cockpit, baking in the prairie sun, and his years of hard living in a boarding house on South Water Street were beginning to show. He smoked. He drank. He flew. On weekends, he attended fights and wrestling matches at the Forum downtown. In the smoky crowd, shoulder to shoulder with mechanics and leather workers, there was the aviator Walter Beech, a long way from his native Tennessee but in Kansas for good. "I want to stay in Wichita," he told people, "if Wichita wants me to stay." The reason was strictly professional. In town, there were two airplane factories, and Beech was the exact kind of employee they were looking to hire. He had learned all about engines while flying for the US Army in Texas. If Beech pronounced a plane safe, anyone would fly it. Better still, he'd fly it himself, working with zeal; "untiring zeal," one colleague said. And thanks to these skills ​-- ​a unique combination of flying experience, stunting talent, and personal drive ​-- ​Beech had managed to move up to vice president and general manager at Travel Air. He worked not only for Turner but for a man named Clyde Cessna, and Beech's job was mostly just to fly. He was supposed to sell Travel Air ships by winning races, especially the 1926 Ford Reliability Tour, a twenty-six-hundred-mile contest featuring twenty-five pilots flying to fourteen cities across the Midwest, with all of Wichita watching. "Now ​-- ​right now ​-- ​is Wichita's chance," one newspaper declared on the eve of the race. "Neglected, it will not come again ​-- ​forever." Beech, flying with a young navigator named Brice "Goldy" Goldsborough, felt a similar urgency. The company had invested $12,000 in the Travel Air plane he was flying, a massive amount, equivalent to roughly $160,000 today. If he failed in the reliability race ​-- ​if he lost or, worse, crashed ​-- ​he would have to answer to Cessna and Turner, and he knew there were plenty of ways to fail. "A loose nut," he said, "or a similar seemingly inconsequential thing has lost many a race," and so he awoke early the day the contest began and went to the airfield in Detroit. Observers would have seen a quiet shadow near the starting line checking every bolt, instrument, and, of course, the engine: a $5,700 contraption, nearly half the price of the expensive plane. "Don't save this motor," the engine man advised Beech before he took off on the first leg of the journey, urging him to open it up. "Let's win the race." Beech pushed the throttle as far as it would go. He was first into Kalamazoo, first into Chicago. With Goldsborough's help, he flew without hesitation into the fog around St. Paul, coming so close to the ground and the lakes below that journalists reported that fish leaped out of the water at Beech's plane. While some pilots got lost or waited out the weather in Milwaukee, Beech won again, defeating the field by more than twenty minutes. He prevailed as well in Des Moines and Lincoln and, finally, the midway point in the race, Wichita, winning that leg by almost seven minutes despite a leaking carburetor. "It's certainly good to be back home again," Beech said to the crowd of five thousand people after stepping out of the cockpit. Excerpted from Fly Girls: How Five Daring Women Defied All Odds and Made Aviation History by Keith O'Brien All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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