East to the Dawn (71 page)

The choice was clear if—and it was a big if—one had sufficient funds. And now, with the Purdue Research Foundation behind her, Amelia did. As for the particular choice, Amelia and most of the fliers she respected flew Lockheeds. They made the best land planes, as Sikorsky made the
best seaplanes. And having moved to North Hollywood, the center of the nation's aircraft industry, Amelia had moved to within ten miles of Burbank, where Lockheed built its planes. The Electra was in the final stages of development: it was Lockheed's bid to capture the next generation of fliers. The Electra won hands down. It first flew on February 23, 1934. It was the fastest multi-engine transport in the world, the first able to cruise faster than two hundred miles an hour, the first plane with an all-metal surface to go into production in the United States. Northwest Airlines bought the first one off the line in July 1934; Braniff followed suit. Paul Collins, too, thought they were the new airplane of choice. He wanted them—badly—for the Boston and Maine, and knowing banks would turn a cold shoulder, he turned to fellow director Sam Solomon, a friend of Lockheed's president Robert Gross, who negotiated a deal so that the Boston and Maine could buy them on the installment plan.

The Electra was the first plane to carry the unmistakable imprint of Clarence L. “Kelly” Johnson, a genius whose designs would include World War II's P-38 fighter-interceptor, the F-80, the first American operational jet fighter, the first planes to fly at three times the speed of sound, and the U-2, in which Gary Powers was shot down over Russia.

A big bright lad, son of Swedish émigrés, well coordinated enough to win a football scholarship to the University of Michigan, Johnson cut his teeth on the Lockheed Electra. His first day at Lockheed, he announced that the company's prototype new-model transport—which he had tested for his professor in the wind tunnel at the University of Michigan the year before—was unstable. To give the plane stability, he put a double vertical tail on the Electra, a touch that made it distinctive looking and turned it into a winner right away.

There were four Electra 10 models, all the same size, all built to hold ten passengers and two in crew: the 10A, with two Pratt and Whitney Wasp Jr. engines rated at 400 horsepower each; the 10B, with two Wright Whirlwinds rated at 420 horsepower each; the 10C, powered by two Wasps, rated at 450 horsepower; and the 10E, equipped with two Wasp engines, rated at 550 horsepower each. As the engines increased in horsepower, the weights varied from 6,300 pounds empty and 10,000 pounds gross on the 10B to 7,100 pounds empty and 10,500 pounds gross on the 10E.

Once she had decided, Amelia bought the 10E. Lockheed was so delighted with the idea of Amelia flying the Electra that they pulled out all the stops to have it ready for her birthday, even to the point of putting pressure on their suppliers. John Diehl, a B.F. Goodrich tire design engineer, remembers
that it was of such importance that the plane be ready for delivery on July 24 that all rules at the plant were waived. The National Recovery Act, Roosevelt's law limiting workers to a forty-hour work week so that more jobs would be available in the Depression-ridden country, was in effect. Diehl had been told that if he spent any more time at night working on experimental tires, his pass would be lifted, but then he received a call late one afternoon asking him to come that evening and build three tires for Amelia, because no tires of the right size were in stock. “My boss called me and said, ‘We make rules and now they must be broken. Would you please come in tonight and build three tires for Amelia Earhart?' ” He and his crew worked straight though the night, and at eight the next morning the tires were finished.

She took possession of the Electra on her thirty-ninth birthday, July 24, 1936. It was a breathtaking plane. She was one of two individuals to own one; the other was the multimillionaire flier Howard Hughes, who acquired his Electra at about the same time.

Acquiring the plane meant getting to know Kelly; he helped Amelia break it in and work out various problems. He thought she was a very good pilot, “sensible, very studious, and paid attention to what she was told.”

On August 29 she flew the Electra nonstop from Burbank to Kansas City, accompanied by Paul Mantz and Bo McKneely, her mechanic. She was contemplating entering the Bendix solo, she told the ever-present reporters at the field.

When she arrived at Floyd Bennett field, she was more than satisfied. “I could write poetry about this ship,” she said to some mechanics.

She was flying east to enter the Bendix; 1936 was one of the years the race was run from New York to Los Angeles. Don Dwiggins, author of
They Flew The Bendix Race,
thought of the 1936 race as sort of an off year, probably because only seven planes were entered and three of them were piloted by women: Amelia, who had asked Helen Richey to be her co-pilot; Louise Thaden and Blanche Noyes, Amelia's friends whom she would recommend to Gene for the air-marking program, who were flying a 420-horsepower C17R Stagger-wing Beech demonstrator, loaned to them by Olive and Walter Beech; and Laura Ingalls in a sleek new Lockheed Orion. First off in the blackness at Floyd Bennett field at 1:37 A.M. on September 4 were William Gulick and Buster Warner in a 750-horsepower Vultee, followed by George Pomeroy at 2:03 in a Douglas DC-2, followed by Amelia and Helen in the Electra at 2:47, followed by Joe Jacobson in his Gar Wood
Gamma
at 3:12, followed by Louise Thaden and Blanche Noyes, followed by Ben and Mike Howard in
Mister Mulligan.
Last off at 6:11 was Laura Ingalls.

Moments after Amelia and Helen took off, a bolt in the hatch cover over their heads worked loose, and the big hatch—big enough to provide access—popped open. Only after the automatic pilot kicked in could Amelia, who was at the controls, help Helen wrestle it closed. At one point, “the wind almost sucked us right out of the cockpit,” according to Amelia. It took them two hours before they got it securely into place. When they made their refueling stop in Kansas City precious time was lost while it was wired shut. Later they had to deal with a cabin door that worked loose—all very time-consuming. They came in fifth. Their problems paled, however, beside those of Benny Howard, the 1935 winner, who flying with his wife, cracked up in New Mexico when the propeller blade just “let go,” and Joe Jacobson, who narrowly missed being killed as he parachuted to safety after his plane suddenly exploded over Stafford, Kansas.

Laura Ingalls, flying solo, was making good time until she made her refueling stop which, because it was unplanned, took much longer than it should have. George Pomeroy in his DC-2 (his crew were playing cards in the back) also lost precious time refueling.

Louise Thaden and Blanche Noyes, meanwhile, were having problems with their directional gyro as well as with their radio, which conked out halfway across the continent—providentially
after
enabling them to learn that of their two refueling sites, only Wichita was clear and fog free. They went in dodging thunderstorms. They were sure, when they landed their trim blue Beechcraft at Mines field near Los Angeles, that they were in last place, sure they were, in Louise's words, “the cow's tail” of the race. They landed only to show they had gotten through and were puzzled to be greeted by the crestfallen faces of Vincent Bendix and Cliff Henderson. Then they were stunned when Cliff said to petite, blond Blanche, as she squeezed out of the plane handsomely attired in blue-green culottes and green flannel shirt, “I'm afraid you won the Bendix race. I wish you hadn't but if it had to be a woman I'm glad it was you.” Then, to add insult to injury, Laura Ingalls in her Lockheed Orion followed them in to claim second place.

Louise noted with amusement that by evening the press releases referring to Bendix's prize for the first women to finish no longer called it the “consolation prize,” as they had before, but the “special award.” It added $2,500 to the $4,500 Bendix prize that Louise and Blanche walked away with. Their time of 14 hours and 55 minutes set a new east-west speed record that would stand for two years, until Alexander Seversky finally broke it. Their victory stilled the voices of those fanatics who leaned on the strength argument to hold female pilots back, for petite Blanche Noyes, ex-actress, ex-star of
White Cargo,
weighed all of eighty-five pounds.

It was a moment of great satisfaction to all the women pilots—a vindication of their prowess, and another step forward. Two years before, Cliff Henderson had said they weren't good enough pilots, safe enough pilots, strong enough pilots, to compete. Now they had walked off with the first and second prizes. It made no difference to Amelia that she had been bested by her good friends. They could sense her pride. “I don't think there was a jealous bone in her body,” mused Blanche later. “She was just a fine woman all the way through.” Amelia took her time wandering about the field, watching the races, seeing people, among them Gene.

A few days later she had something else on her mind: Beryl Markham, attempting to fly from England to New York, crashed in Nova Scotia, nevertheless becoming the first woman to fly the Atlantic alone from east to west. Naturally, Amelia was asked if
she
had any inclination to try the flight from that direction. “I don't know—you know I've seen that ocean twice, and it doesn't get any prettier,” she replied. But she was already planning her round-the-world flight, had been since August, when the Department of Commerce granted her a license, “restricted for long distance flights and research.”

The next week all thoughts of transatlantic flights were crowded out of her mind by her concern for Gene Vidal. In spite of the large chunks of time spent with Paul Mantz, Purdue, and her new plane, there had been no change in her relationship with Gene. They were as intimate as ever. She had been asked to testify before the Senate Air Safety Committee and turned her appearance into a spirited defense of Gene and of bureau efforts to make the airways safe. She was “obviously nervous” as she sat down, according to the
Washington Post,
probably because she knew she was going to be walking out on a limb. Senator Copeland, chairman, seeking to put her at ease, said that the committee “wanted to find out all we can in answer to the question of air safety.” Instead of replying to that point, according to the paper, Amelia “vigorously defended Federal airways personnel, whom,” she declared were “on trial.” She went on for several minutes in that vein. The headline over her picture was all she could have hoped for: “Amelia Earhart Lauds Bureau of Air Commerce,” as was the caption that ran underneath: “tells Senate Air Safety Committee there was ‘no group more loyal, interested and conscientious' than the Bureau of Air Commerce.” Having made her point, she then went into an assessment of various airports and navigation aids, and ended up returning in the afternoon with a receiving set tuned into the Washington airport so that the senators could hear what a radio beacon sounded like.

When Amelia and Paul were making plans to fly to Denver for the Fourth of July air races, Amelia had wanted Gene to come, too. How to do it discreetly? Like a politician, using her people skills, Amelia had proceeded by indirection: She asked Paul to ask him. Paul wrote to Gene, “Amelia has consented to fly her ship up there, and I am wondering if it will be possible for you to come over and join us. Amelia mentioned particularly she would like so much to see you.” Gene answered to Amelia, sending her a telegram that he couldn't do it: “Still can't leave here.” It seems probable that there were two reasons he turned down the invitation: one was Paul Mantz, and the other was the demands of his job.

Laura Ingalls had applied to Gene for a position in the Bureau's air-marking program. What did Amelia think? queried Gene. Not a good idea. “After your note Ingalls out,” Gene replied. Amelia then asked Gene to hire Blanche Noyes, who was in need of a job after her husband Dewey was killed, for the air-marking program. He authorized it the end of July.