“Querer es poder...if you can dream it, you can achieve it." --Lt Col Olga Custodio, USAF (Ret.)

Custodio was the first female T-38 flight instructor at both Laughlin & Randolph AFB in Texas. (Photo: Olga Custodio)

by Liz Duca


“Querer es poder...if you can dream it, you can achieve it.” Those words speak to the core of Olga Custodio and it is a mantra that she uses to inspire those around her. The moment Olga decided that she wanted to become a military pilot it became her mission, and she was not going to take “no” for an answer.

Olga’s desire to fly began at a young age. Her father was in the Army and she has many memories of traveling around the world with her family. However, when she first attempted to become a military officer through her university’s United States Air Force (USAF) Reserve Officer Training Corps (ROTC), she was told women were not allowed into the program. A later attempt to enter through the USAF Officer Training School was also denied. Despite the obstacles that were placed in her path, Olga continued toward her goal full throttle with grit and determination. When she was 26 years old, already with a family of her own, she decided to make one last attempt to apply to USAF Officer Training School. Her three career choices on her application: pilot, pilot, and pilot. She became all three and then some.

Olga became the first Hispanic female to graduate from USAF Undergraduate Pilot Training, as well as the first female T-38 Talon Flight Instructor at both Laughlin Air Force Base (AFB) in Del Rio, Texas and Randolph AFB in San Antonio, Texas. It was during her time as a T-38 instructor that she was awarded the Headquarters Air Education and Training Command Aviation Safety Award for the superior airmanship she displayed while handling an in-flight emergency when one of her engines failed after a bird strike.

In total, Olga served 24 years in the military and rose to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel in the United States Air Force Reserve. She flew with American Airlines, retiring with over 11,000 hours flying the Boeing 727, Fokker 100, Boeing 757 and Boeing 767. She was recognized on two occasions by the Senate of Puerto Rico as an outstanding and exemplary citizen, and as the first and only Puerto Rican female pilot in the United States Air Force and American Airlines.

Olga continues to hold a number of roles in her community to include being Vice President of the Hispanic Association of Aviation and Aerospace Professionals (HAAAP), a non-profit organization she helped found in San Antonio in 2010, Executive Director and Treasurer of the Women in Aviation International Alamo City Chapter, a member and trustee of the Order of Daedalians, and a mentor with the Aviation Explorers in San Antonio and the School of Aeronautics at the Inter American University in Puerto Rico. She is also the Director and Founder of the Ballet Folklorico Boriken in San Antonio, a Puerto Rican folk dance group since 1992. The group was founded to promote and preserve Olga’s cultural heritage in Texas and has participated in many cultural and educational events.  Boriken is the only group representing Puerto Rico in the annual Texas Folklife Festival.

   As Captain with American Airlines (Photo: Olga Custodio)

Olga Custodio’s accomplishments, like the WASP, are a true testimony to the power behind believing that your dreams can become a reality. “The WASPs laid the foundation for us, the second generation of military aviators,” said Custodio. “We are the next layer of military pilots who continue to inspire more women to know they can do and become anything they dream.”

Querer es poder!

CW3 Eva Rodriguez, U.S. Army (Ret.): From Pilot to Author, Spiritual Healer, and Activist Serving Her Community

Eva on military duty. (Photo: georgeherald.com)

by Logan Walker

To most people who experienced a childhood as Eva Rodriguez did, a life of turbulent adventure and near constant travel might seem like a path to be avoided rather than actively pursued. Constancy and environmental stability can provide an undeniable lure to those who have never experienced it. But, as Rodriguez’s unique life and career prove, normal is sometimes just not enough.

Born in 1963 Detroit to Mexican-descended musician Sixto “Sugar Man” Rodriguez and his half-Cherokee wife Rayma, Eva and her family lived a gypsy lifestyle that wasn’t without hardships. She says, “(My parents) did tough things to keep going and raise three kids. I went to 13 different schools because we moved around all the time. Sandra and I were always the new kids at school and before we could make friends we moved again.”

Despite the lack of stability, her parents did their best to keep the family together in a supportive and loving environment. Art was a pervasive part of the Rodriguez home, with Eva recalling that, “Music was always a part of our life. Rodriguez played guitar and we were encouraged to sing and perform poems, drum, and dance.”

Life would change when a U.S. Army recruitment team visited Eva's school. She signed up right away; “As my dad’s daughter I was taught to love not kill. I was a hippie. But the opportunity came along and I realized if I did not get out of Detroit I would probably end up being a mom on crack.”

By 1986 she was working as a combat nurse, and spent a year stationed in South Korea working with the seriously injured. During this time, she helped to evacuate a patient by helicopter for the first time, an experience that left her with a growing interest in flying. Never one to rest on her laurels, by the next year she not only passed the difficult Army pilot training test but became one of the first women to do so. Officer training was intense and difficult, and Rodriguez was striving in what was undeniably a male dominated environment; in personal quarters, she shared a bathroom with 70 men. Despite what must have felt like at least an initial incongruence, Eva remembers an acceptance and camaraderie that eventually sprung up between her and her male co-trainees. Her training took her to Germany between 1988 and 1990 before she was finally rewarded as an official military pilot.

Life as a U.S. Army helicopter pilot was a whirlwind of travel and excitement, alternately thrilling and heart-wrenchingly tense. Sent to Puerto Rico, she spent time acting as a military advisor for Columbia and Barbados before traveling to Honduras, Guatemala and Belize as a safety program manager. Next disaster relief and humanitarian work called her across South America, to places like Nicaragua, Belize and El Salvador. A year later she flew in the Persian Gulf War, carrying patients and medical supplies through the war zones from Iraq to Saudi Arabia and Kuwait.

The steady and substantive financial perks of Rodriguez’s job allowed her to spend lavishly and purchase expensive clothes, cars, and houses (in both Egypt and Germany). Looking fondly on these days which stood in such stark contrast to the modest lifestyle she grew up with, Eva muses, “I literally lived the American dream.” But the dream darkened when the realities of her work in combat put her in serious concern of her life. “I had a lot of close calls, which make you realize you are not in control of everything,” she explained, adding, “There is a reason why you make it out alive and others don’t.”

Returning to America in 1991, Eva put her medical experience to work as a nurse in Kansas, working with patients for four years. Next she spent a yearlong stint as a peacekeeper in Egypt, an experience she recalls as a particular career favorite, before she returned once more to her life in Kansas. It was at this point that she was surprised to learn of two South African fans of her father who were searching for information on the current whereabouts of the “Sugar Man”, whose popularity, she would learn, was quite substantial in South Africa. Eva, who refers to her father only by his last name, was passingly aware of his status as a pop musician whose song (and epithet provider) “Sugar Man” had been an international hit for a period in the ‘70s, but knew relatively little of his music. Inspired by the renewed interest, she set about assisting in the revitalization of his career, taking photos of the musician for fans and arranging and accompanying him on a string of South African tour dates.

Eva, "On 3rd Degree: Rodriguez-Echoes of Freedom" (Photo: sugarman.org)

Once back from the tour experience, Rodriguez’s daily life had reached an adventurous and sometimes hectic fever pitch as it seems she was once more piloting helicopters for the military. Soon enough she found her life changed following the birth of her first child. The 1999 arrival of her son called into question how much longer she could continue in a line of work that meant near constant danger; “I was a soldier by day and a mom by night. But once you become a mom your mind-set changes. For the first time I had something to live for.”

The final straw came for Eva as she piloted a Black Hawk helicopter in the midst of a Columbia drug raid, an experience that forced her to realize that there was no room in her life for both her Army missions and her child. Honorably discharged as a highly decorated soldier, she ended her military career as a Chief Warrant Officer 3, and in 2001 moved with her family to the town of Wilderness in South Africa where she set up house in a rural cliffside cottage.

Reflecting on her long career, Rodriguez states that “As a woman, the effects after a war are very hard. Everyone admires you as a hero, but you don’t feel like one. Twenty years was enough, so I took early retirement.”  Years in the stressful environment of the Army as well as an awareness of her Mexican/Cherokee ancestors and their tribal healing practices influenced her interest in spirituality and native healing, a subject which she calls “full of sacredness and miracles”.

Eva authored the book, The Circle of Love, a book authored by Rodriguez and aimed at highlighting spirituality and nature for children. Picked by UNIMA as an arts intervention project and staged by over 300 students at a school in Cape Town, the book combined many forms of performative art over a period of eight weeks. In 2009, it was performed for the Amateur Arts Festival at George Society of the Arts Theatre where it was nominated for Best Performance and received acknowledgment for directorial and script efforts. According to Eva, “My vision is to promote The Circle of Love as a fundraiser to provide children with greater opportunities to express themselves creatively, encourage a true appreciation of nature, and in doing so expand their own circle of love.”

Immersed in a life very different from the one she led years ago, Eva has settled into a life of healing and authoring in her tranquil community, occasionally accompanying her father on tours and extending her efforts toward community involvement. Of her preferred lifestyle of late, she says “I live in Wilderness, it’s pretty remote. I’ve been there a long time. So I enjoy Cape Town, the art and the buzz, but it gets too much and then I long to go back to Wilderness.” After a career surrounded by men in a largely male-centric field, her current life has seen her surrounded by more women than ever before, as she is in her own words, “still trying to get in touch with my feminine side.” Now an executive committee member of the Outeniqua Business and Professional Women’s Club in George, she views helping with the club’s Phambili Refuge for Battered Women as a priority, stating “I have realized that one way I need to give back is by helping women be aware of their rights within relationships and that there are ways to pursue justice despite being abused and without resources.”

Although her piloting days are behind her, Eva’s continued commitment to serving her community and the larger world through authorship, healing, and community outreach are undoubtedly an extension of the active role she has always taken in meeting challenges head on and bravely participating in the change in both her local and global environment.

"You just got into the air and had the fun of those powerful machines in the sky" -- Molly Rose, legendary British ATA pilot

by Logan Walker

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="412.0"] Molly Rose, 1942 (Photo: UK Daily Express) [/caption]

It was a chilly day in the waning years of the 1920s and it may have been an altogether more sensible idea to stay grounded inside by a fire, but Molly Rose was fortified by an excitement that defied reason. “I remember how cold it was,” she would remember years later and well into adulthood, “but when your big brother invites you on a flight, you don’t run into the house to get a cardigan!”

As a young girl, Molly often watched her brother take off in his Tiger Moth airplane from the windows of the Rose family home; now, as he led her to where it was parked in a field behind the house she could barely contain her excitement. As she recalled, “I was one of a large family, and as a little girl I thought anything my brother did was terrific…I very much enjoyed going anywhere he was prepared to take his little sister.”  It was the first of several trips that would confirm for the young Molly that her aspirations pointed squarely to the pilot’s seat of an aircraft.

In many ways Molly’s passion for flying was either extremely lucky or somewhat inevitable; planes were after all the family business. One of seven children born to Maude and David Marshall, Molly’s father founded the Cambridge company Marshall Aerospace in 1909. The business would later be taken over by Molly’s brother and sometime flying escort Arthur who would expand it to include aircraft construction and servicing. Educated for much of her youth at a local school near her hometown of Cambridge, Molly spent a year at finishing school in Paris before returning to England to work in the family business. By age 17 she had obtained both a driver’s and pilot’s license, and soon after began training as Marshall Aerospace’s first female airplane engineer.

Molly’s personal life had begun to blossom as well; in 1938 she met a young music scholar at St. Catherine’s College named Bernard Rose during a party in Cambridge and the two began dating. A year later, Bernard, was called up to join the war effort as preparations for WWII swept the country. The two were barely married before Molly’s new husband was shuttled off to command tanks in North Africa, Italy, and Normandy, where he would later be captured and imprisoned near Germany.

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="400.0"] Molly Rose (left) and fellow ATA pilots. (Photo: The Telegraph) [/caption]

It wasn’t long before Molly would receive her own army summons of sorts. In 1942 Rose received an invitation to join the ATA (Air Transport Auxilary), an organization founded by Sir Gerard Regis Leo d’Erlinger. Constructed on the belief that those not qualified to join the countries’ RAF (Royal Air Force) should be put to work transporting aircraft so that RAF members could focus on combat flying, the ATA started off accepting only men who for various reasons could not ordinarily qualify for Air Force service. Eventually, the ATA opened its doors to women, a historic development as Britain had never before allowed a woman in a military aircraft (the women of the ATA also had the distinction of receiving an equal wage to their male peers). In the end, about a fifth of the ATA pilots would be female, and collectively the organization would deliver over 309,000 planes over the course of the war. A natural choice for the job, Molly was seasoned in the world of aviation and a qualified pilot to boot, but despite her knowledgeable background she had spent only 57 hours in the sky (and just 18 of those as a solo pilot).

Molly's training with the ATA demonstrated her natural aptitude for flying, and she soon progressed from piloting the light Tiger Moth planes that she had taken her first taste of flight in, to more substantial single engine planes. Finally, she graduated to the cockpits of aircrafts like the Hurricane fighter and the infamous Spitfire, a piloting experience that Rose herself labeled “a thrilling moment.”

Expanding on her favorite aircrafts, Molly later commented that, “I didn’t like things like Walruses very much, which we had to fly sometimes. I think I liked all those gaudy aircraft that we flew, I mean particularly the twin engine light bombers, which were lovely to fly. And a Wellington was very nice, a reliable aircraft to fly.” Post-training she was stationed at Luton, then White Waltham, and finally in September of 1943 to Hamble airfield near Southhampton, an exclusively female unit that she would remain at for most of her time in the ATA.

Flying for the ATA was a difficult job by any standards. Aetheris avidi, or “eager for the air” read the ATA motto, and true to the description, on any given day Molly and her fellow pilots might be tasked with flying three to four different types of planes. Significant preparation and resourcefulness were needed for these flights, especially when operating a new kind of aircraft; checklists and aircraft notes where utilized in the absence of flight radios, which were not supplied, and often airfields where disguised and hardly perceptible from the sky. “If you were taking a new type of aircraft that you hadn’t flown before, you got the book out of the library, and if you got the chance you read it,” Rose remembered. “But equally you had a small, hard, loose leafed book which you could turn up to the page of the aircraft you were flying, and you stuck it in your flying boot. It became a joke to all the air force pilots in the we always had these. And when you were coming in to land you looked up any salient features of that aircraft.”

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="520.0"] Molly Rose during a visit to RAF Brize Norton in August 2013. (Photo: raf.mod.uk) [/caption]

The urgency of their missions, regardless of the hazards they sometimes posed, was never lost on the women of the ATA. “I was never challenged, but we all absolutely knew that we had our backs to the wall,” said Rose of the tense political climate of WWII Britain. “If Hitler had cared to do an invasion immediately after Dunkirk, he could have walked in. But everyone was doing what they could to help. There was tremendous camaraderie.” In other ways, the experience of flying was freeing; As Rose recalled, “In those days. You did not have to keep to flight paths and heights. You just got into the air and had the fun of those powerful machines in the sky.” Throughout it all, Rose and her fellow pilots maintained a no-nonsense work ethic and practicality that cut through any irreverence or air-stunts; “I think we were all very conscious of the fact that aircraft were special and you didn’t want to break any. I mean if you read Giles [Whittell’s book “Spitfire Women of WWII”] you would feel that everyone was larking about the sky having great fun doing aerobatics. In fact it really wasn’t like that, it was a serious job of work. And we would all realize that aircraft were very rare and very special, and if you could you were going to preserve it. And equally, fuel was very, very, very scarce.”

Over the course of her career as a pilot, Rose transported 486 aircraft of 86 different varieties; among them the Hurricane, Anson, Mustang, Gladiator, Beaufighter, and Wellington Bombers, as well as the notoriously difficult Mosquito aircraft. Each of these were delivered to RAF or Royal Navy airfields and maintenance units where they would await combat assignments, after which Molly and other fliers of the organization would hitch a ride from one of their fellow pilots to the next transportation job. Ever busy with delivery duties, it became common for the women of the ATA to re-label their acronym as “Anything to Anywhere”.

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="650.0"] Molly poses in front of a Spitfire. (Photo: Oxford Mail) [/caption]

Molly’s hands were kept perpetually full flying out of her primary base of Ferry Pool No 15 , and in her most hectic year, 1944, she transported 253 planes from one location to another. Her hard work eventually earned her a promotion to first officer (the equivalent of a flight lieutenant). Located near the busy naval centers of Woolsten and Itchen, she also had close exposure to the large scale D-Day preparations happening around her. The immediate aftermath of that event would have a heavy impact on Molly’s personal life; her husband Bernard was captured in the wake of the invasion and reported dead, news that Rose herself refused to believe. Throughout that tense time, she relied on her work to focus her mind and distract her from the uncertainty of Bernard’s fate; “At least during the daytime, I was busy with my own skin. And you know, you do worry about yourself first, however much you love somebody. You’ve got to concentrate on what you’re doing, you’re trying very hard not to break airplanes.” As fortune would have it, she was proven correct when he was verified alive just weeks later.

Hazards abounded for Molly as well, who had her closest brush with disaster in the skies over Shropshire when the engine of the Swordfish she was piloting failed and sent her spiraling toward the ground below. Crash landing on a slanted field she narrowly missed hitting a farm worker before landing upside in her cockpit, hanging precariously from her safety harness.

The return of her husband signaled the end of Molly’s three year tenure with the ATA, and the last of her days as a pilot. Remembering the close of her flying career, Rose remarked that ““When he came back I came out of the ATA. I was much more needed to look after him. I think the war changed both of us, but we were fortunate in that we both liked each other, and we had a very happy marriage of 57 years.” Post-war the Roses settled in Bampton, Oxfordshire and raised three sons. In 1952 Molly was appointed as a magistrate on the Bullingdon circuit, while Bernard became an organist and choirmaster at Oxford’s Magdalen College. In the early sixties the couple to Appleton Manor, a 13th century estate near Abingdon. There Molly set to work hosting choristers, indulging in games of bridge and snooker, and raising funds for charity, a pursuit which earned her an OBE in 1989.

While her husband retired in 1981, Molly was appointed a deputy lieutenant for Oxfordshire two years later, and in due time became an active representative of the ATA in the media. Although her son stated that his mother spoke little of her work as a pilot during his childhood, Molly gained a higher profile as the organization gained new recognition circa the mid 2000s in the wake of developments like Giles Whittell’s WWII biography of the ATA and Gordon Brown’s official awarding of 50 surviving ATA veterans.

Appearing in televised interviews and broadcast programs such as BBC's “The Great British Menu: The D-Day Banquet,” Molly spent her later days active in raising awareness of the previously largely forgotten female pilots of WWII. Commenting on modern flight techniques during a visit to RAF Brize Norton in 2013, Rose stated that “It was much more interesting in my day because one was entirely in control of the airplane. They do not really fly it these days- it’s all computers.”

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="631.0"] Molly Rose pictured with one of the Hurricane planes she once flew. (Photo: airspacemag.com) [/caption]

In October 2016 Molly passed away during a trip to Scotland. At 95, she was one of the last surviving members of the ATA, and one of the few living reminders of a time when circumstances briefly allowed women to serve alongside men in an unprecedented military context, years before such opportunities became standard procedure. Whether as a child riding behind her brother on a freezing English morning or a woman flying through the air over a war-beset country with only an old map and her own resourcefulness to guide her, Molly Rose’s courage, cleverness, and sense of adventure never failed her. As a pilot and a women, she did what few before but so many after her could, which is at the least the sign of a trailblazer, and at the most perhaps the sign of an exceptional person.

"I wanted to serve my country in a very active way." --WASP Dawn Seymour

by Martha Magruder

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="196.0"] WASP Dawn Seymour (Photo: ezramagazine.cornell.edu) [/caption]

By the time she was 26 years old, Dawn Rochow Balden Seymour had logged 700 hours in the Boeing B -17 "Flying Fortress" and was training young gunners in preparation for D-Day and war in the Pacific.  Just a few years earlier, the ambitious 22-year old native of Rochester, NY, who had never stepped foot on a plane, graduated from Cornell University’s College of Home Economics and was hired as an instructor at the school. While volunteering in a research study, she was approached by Dr. Richard Parmenter, a veteran WWI pilot who saw her potential and asked if she was interested in Cornell's new Civilian Pilot Training program (CPT) and not long after, he took her for her first plane ride. She recalled, “So he took me up in a yellow [Piper] Cub on an October day when, of course, the leaves have turned, and suddenly the world is completely different. There's a sense of freedom. I was hooked with this love of flying.”

Seymour became the first woman pilot accepted into the CPT, “one out of every ten—nine men, one woman—was acceptable,” and in 1940, she earned her private pilot’s license. December 1941 brought about America’s involvement in World War II and Seymour found herself working for the New York State War Council on the same committee as Eleanor Roosevelt. Seymour, however, wanted to do more for the war effort: "I wanted to serve my country in a very active way.” In March 1943, she applied and was accepted to Jackie Cochran’s WASP program. “I was on the sidewalk and I flipped a nickel. Heads, I go that month, or, tails, I stay home [and get more flying time]. And it was heads. So I quit my job...And I joined the class of '43-5.”

Training took place at Avenger Field in Sweetwater, Texas. Seymour recalled a rigorous five months of “getting up and falling in line, going to breakfast, going to the flight line, going to ground school and to link training." Jackie Cochran presented Seymour with her wings on graduation day, September 11, 1943.  “The wings were cold, though it was a ninety degree day, and I said to myself, oh my goodness, I did it! It was a wonderful feeling of accomplishment.”

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600.0"] Dawn Seymour in the B-17. (Photo: CBS News) [/caption]

Though the WASP remained on home soil, they were by no means out of harm’s way. Seymour remembered, “Ten days before I graduated, my best friend, my buddy, Peggy Seip, was killed with her instructor and a fellow WASP pilot, and no reason was given for the accident. There was no ceremony held, they just disappeared. And it was a heart wrenching event….And Peggy had left a garden, the only garden any WASP had ever grown in Sweetwater, Texas, and it bloomed on our graduation day.”

Upon graduation, Seymour was sent to the Second Ferrying Command in Wilmington, Delaware and after just two weeks there, she completed ground school and checked out in the PT-19. Soon after, she transferred to Lockbourne Army Air Base in Columbus, Ohio where, after more rigorous training, she became one of only thirteen WASP, known as the “Lucky Thirteen” chosen to pilot the B-17. Seymour subsequently relocated to Buckingham Army Air Field at Fort Myers, Florida where she flew gunnery missions in the B-17 F/G and towed targets in the AT-23.  She trained gunners, mostly very young men no more than eighteen or nineteen years old, and who had never been in the air. During those training missions, Seymour piloted the plane towing the target or “sleeve,” for the trainees to shoot at with live ammunition. She recalled, “Sometimes I'd see tracers in the B-17 going toward the plane, the B-26, and you'd put on the mike and say, "The sleeve, guys! Aim at the sleeve!"”

In early 1944, Seymour transferred to Roswell, New Mexico, to fly more training missions. In December of that year she and her fellow WASP received the devastating letter from General Hap Arnold notifying them of the disbandment of the WASP program. “The message we received was, 'Girls, go home, we don't need you anymore.'"  The women immediately packed up their things and without ceremony or fanfare, departed the military lifestyle they’d grown accustomed to and returned to their former lives. It would take 33 years for the United States government to officially recognize them as military veterans.

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="592.0"] Dawn Seymour on the flight deck of the 445th Airlift Wing C-5 Galaxy aircraft in 2009. (USAF photo/Senior Airman Mikhail Berlin, http://www.afrc.af.mil/News/Article-Display/Article/158024/wright-patt-reservists-wowed-by-conference/) [/caption]

In 1982, five years after the WASP received military veteran status, Dawn Seymour was elected President of the WASP organization. She made it her mission to share the WASP story with the world. To commemorate the lives of those lost, she authored a book titled, IN MEMORIAM: Thirty-eight WAFS/WASP who gave their lives during training and service.  Seymour campaigned for Jackie Cochran's induction into the National Women's Hall of Fame and for ten years she worked tirelessly for a U.S. postal stamp honoring Cochran, which finally made its debut in 1996.  In 2005, Seymour was awarded the Keeper of the Flame award by the National Women's Hall of Fame.

Dawn Seymour strove to inspire women to pursue their dreams and proved a gifted speaker and storyteller as she shared her memories of of the WASP and WWII with audiences around the country. She was extremely proud to have had the opportunity to fly and serve her country while doing it.  “We were volunteers going in, and we were volunteers going out, and our motto was, “We live in the wind and the sand, and our eyes are on the stars.””

On July 18, 2017, Dawn Seymour passed away at the age of 100. Tributes poured in and fueled the American public's growing interest in the WASP. Given her unwavering resolve during her lifetime to share the WASP stories and preserve their legacy, Seymour would no doubt have been proud that even in death she was able to carry out that mission. 

During a 1999 interview with Rebecca Wright for the Johnson Space Center Oral History Project, Seymour was asked how she'd sum up the contributions and sacrifices of the WASP:

"So I think my advice, as you asked me before, what difference -- what were the WASPs and what was their meaning in this particular time? And I think it is they listened to a voice inside that urges each one of us--we each had this--urges us to try. Find a way. You do the hard work. And I think that's my message." 

Dawn Seymour's service to her country and contribution to changing the course of history, especially for women, will forever inspire and influence generations to come.

Elizabeth Harmon Bane: A Strong, Determined Woman Who Approached Life with Zest and Enthusiasm

by Susan Bane Summers

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="423.0"] Elizabeth Harmon Bane, Class 43-W-4 (Photo courtesy of Susan Bane Summers) [/caption]

My grandmother Elizabeth "Liz" Harmon Bane earned her WASP wings on August 7, 1943 at Avenger Field in Sweetwater, Texas. She began flying while attending the University of Alabama and had well over the required flight hours before heading to Texas.

During her training she flew the PT-19, AT-6, AT-10, BT-13 and twin engine Beech UC-78. Her assignments included Love Field, Dallas, Texas; Gunter Army Air Field, Montgomery, Alabama; Randolph Army Air Base, Universal City, Texas; Eagle Pass Army Air Base, Eagle Pass, Texas.

During her service, Liz met my grandfather, Major Mark C. Bane, Jr. and they married at Gunter-Maxwell Field in Alabama.  Mark served until 1969 and the couple spent many years abroad including in Occupied Japan after the war. They raised four children; Liz, Laurie, Mark Jr. & Helen.

My grandmother was a strong, determined woman who approached everything she did in life with perfection, zest and enthusiasm. She was an amazing mother, gardener, talented chef, always stylishly color coordinated and loved taking me shopping for clothes when I visited. I'm the youngest girl of six so her distaste of me in my brothers' hand-me-downs worked out well for my dress wardrobe. She "spoiled me ripe", called me 'little fish' because I loved swimming and the water and let me climb up in her lap and fall asleep long after I had grown too big to do so.

We lost my grandmother to cancer my freshman year of college.  Her passion for life, learning and flight lived on and inspired her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren to this very day. In fact, one of her great granddaughters has completed over 1,000 hours of flight training at the age of 12. 

My grandparents had a set of portraits of them painted in Japan in 1949 and today they hang in my dining room. I think of them both every day. I can hear my grandmother complimenting my cooking, telling me to stand up straight and watching over my children she never got to meet.

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="500.0"] Elizabeth Harmon & Major Mark C. Bane when they first met. (Photo courtesy of Susan Bane Summers) [/caption]

Meet the Rogue Women Astronauts of the 1960s Who Never Flew...

...but they passed the same tests the male astronauts did—and, yes, in high heels!

By Kat Eschner
smithsonian.com
June 16, 2017

Valentina Tereshkova was the first-ever woman to fly a spacecraft, on June 16, 1963. But even before Tereshkova took off, the United States was researching–and discarding–the idea of sending women into space, for reasons that had nothing to do with their abilities. It would take another twenty years before Sally Ride became the first American woman in space.

This is the story of the First Lady Astronaut Trainees, an elite group of women pilots who underwent astronaut testing and seemed like they might be on track to become astronauts in the early 1960s.
 
The best remembered of these women is probably Jerrie Cobb, a record-setting aviator. Even though Cobb and twelve others did extremely well in the astronaut tests, none of them went to space and the program they were part of was killed, speaking to the unwarranted sexism of the early American space program.

Read more: http://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/meet-american-women-who-trained-space-1960s-180963704/#XV1PGTHP9uxPmj5r.99

Meet the Rogue Women Astronauts of the 1960s Who Never Flew

But they passed the same tests the male astronauts did—and, yes, in high heels

By Kat Eschner

smithsonian.com
June 16, 2017

Valentina Tereshkova was the first-ever woman to fly a spacecraft, on June 16, 1963. But even before Tereshkova took off, the United States was researching–and discarding–the idea of sending women into space, for reasons that had nothing to do with their abilities. It would take another twenty years before Sally Ride became the first American woman in space.

This is the story of the First Lady Astronaut Trainees, an elite group of women pilots who underwent astronaut testing and seemed like they might be on track to become astronauts in the early 1960s.  The best remembered of these women is probably Jerrie Cobb, a record-setting aviator. Even though Cobb and twelve others did extremely well in the astronaut tests, none of them went to space and the program they were part of was killed, speaking to the unwarranted sexism of the early American space program.

Read more: http://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/meet-american-women-who-trained-space-1960s-180963704/#XV1PGTHP9uxPmj5r.99

WASP Ruth Adams: Flying Gave Her Courage

by Logan Walker with special thanks to Dylan Almendral and the American Legacy Museum

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="641.0"] Ruth Adams with her chute posing in front of a C-47 before ferrying it to another base. Courtesy of the American Legacy Museum [/caption]

“I’m a fairly cautious person. I remember the first time it crossed my mind that anyone would be interested in flying besides those men out there. A couple of girls that I knew…said, ‘We want to be flyers when we grow up.’ And my response was, I was fourteen, fifteen, I wasn’t—I thought, what a dumb idea. It’s dangerous.”

That was Ruth Adams’ earliest recollection about flying, and few impressions could prove more comically inverse. For Ruth, who would one day find herself piloting a “dangerous” vessel thousands of feet above the ground, the journey from a safe college life to the cockpit of a plane was one that wound through a maze of personal difficulties, preconceptions and fears. It was also one that would leave her with the courage and skill set to pursue her most daunting ambitions and start over again and again with startling success.

Born in Ohio in 1917 to George Dana and Pearl Adams, Ruth’s childhood in the Cleveland area was beset by obstacles. Although her family lived in an upper class neighborhood, the family was relatively poor and Ruth and her sister were just two of just a few neighborhood children who did not attend a private school. A tomboy who rarely mixed with her community peers socially, Ruth suffered from a form of dyslexia that prevented her from reading until she was in the third grade; “…I was convinced I was stupid. I read a lot because I was rather isolated. The boys wouldn’t let me play with them because I grew up in an upper class neighborhood.”

Things began to change for Ruth in her late teens, as she began to feel more assertive and comfortable with her unique skills. Having played baseball as a hobby for many years, Ruth found an opportunity to prove herself and shatter expectations when she and a friend happened upon a boys' baseball game during summer camp. As she watched the boys show off their prowess on the field, she felt a resentment build within her. She knew she could play just as good as them. Boldly, she decided to make her move. She recalled, “I said timidly, pretending to be a timid girl, ‘Can I play? Will you let me try it?’ And they said ‘Alright, let her try it.’” She asked the boys to “throw her an easy one” and proceeded to hit the ball out of the field, never to be found again. “They had no business showing off like that and expect[ing] me just to stand there wide-eyed and admiring. And I thought, the hell with that, you know. Why can’t girls do anything?”

Ruth’s streak of courage faltered at times in the face of air travel. Although her attitude had softened somewhat toward flying as she grew older, an incident during the Chicago World’s Fair in 1933 gave her a serious scare. Her family had flown to Chicago for the Fair and were enjoying sightseeing around the city just a day later when they learned that the plane they had traveled on had crashed in a bout of harsh wind over Lake Michigan. Once again in Ruth’s mind, flying was crossed with an unmistakable aura of danger.

After graduation from high school Ruth moved on to study at Wellesley College, earning her undergraduate degree in Art History in 1939. In Boston she found work as a research assistant at the city’s Museum of Fine Arts and was confronted by another chance encounter with planes. On the way back from visiting a friend out of town, a roadside school caught her attention with its advertisement for five dollar and under flying lessons:  “But I thought, oh, that dumb stuff, and went by.  I was saying disparaging things to myself. Five miles beyond that I decided, ‘are you afraid to go up?’ And I said, ‘Well, I will just see if I was afraid.’ And I turned around.” Ruth signed up for lessons with the school, practicing in an open cockpit biplane, and found to her surprise that she wasn’t afraid of flying at all. As she recalled, “It was simply an interesting sensation, and also intellectually appealed to me. Things looked so different. So, I liked it so much that I would take myself—it was near Worcester and I would go all the way out there…Then I thought, well maybe this is something I could do, because I was very dissatisfied.”

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="843.0"] Ruth Adams dressed and ready for flight. Courtesy of the American Legacy Museum. [/caption]

With a growing ambition to be a professional pilot, Ruth investigated the possibility of enrolling in a flight school run by pilot and future WASP executive Nancy Love. With lessons at the school running up to $2000, she decided against enrolling; however, before long she heard about the new Civilian Pilot Training Program. As a college graduate, Adams only had to pay the registration fee at Northeastern University and after a string of free flying lessons she received her private pilot’s license. “Of course it was kind of fun and I enjoyed it and that’s where I discovered that I was a really good flyer,” she remembered many years later. As a licensed pilot, Ruth continued to take lessons, hoping to log the requisite 500 hours to join the Women’s Auxiliary Ferrying Squadron (WAFS). Her plans changed when she heard about the WASP program, which required applicants to log less hours. She applied quickly, and after a successful interview, she was accepted.

Landing in class 44-W-2, Ruth left for training in Sweetwater, Texas. Life as a trainee presented its own set of challenges but Ruth was determined to succeed, sometimes too her own detriment; her eagerness to follow an instructor’s comments about head movements to a literal degree resulted in the man failing her during a test ride. Fortunately, she persisted in retaking tests and absorbing in-flight lessons, eventually becoming glowingly proficient in basic flight as well as acrobatics and navigation.

Ruth’s dyslexia, which caused her to transpose numbers and letters and often painstakingly slowed her reading abilities, was another hurdle. While flying she learned that her condition, which had long been an embarrassment to her, could be navigated around with enough willpower and creativity. “I’ll tell you that flying gave me a lot of courage because I found that I could read all of the instruments on the dashboard,” She recounted. “Of course we learned where to focus, and to focus fast, but nevertheless by the time I was doing pursuit, or even at the AT-6, there were a fair number of instruments to take in at a glance. I thought if I could do that then I’m a pretty good flyer. I think that I could do anything if I really pay attention and try to learn it.”

After graduating from WASP training in March 1944, Ruth was assigned to Ferry Command at New Castle Army Base in Wilmington, Delaware, later moving to take up a place in pursuit school in Brownsville, Texas. “[In] Brownsville…I was always afraid I’d wash out. I’d do something dumb and wash out,” remembered Ruth, who added “I didn’t at Sweetwater, but when I got to Brownsville I was flying in the backseat of the AT-6…for the first two weeks, and then the next two weeks we just flew various pursuit planes. At first oh, P-39, and then the King Cobra, and then the P-40, and the P-47.” Ruth may have been nervous about passing her courses, but time would prove her fears unfounded, as she was the only woman in her bay to pass primary training.

On duty as a ferrying pilot, Ruth not only loved flying but found herself impassioned about her role in the war effort; “I hated Hitler and really wanted to see us win this war. I had political orientations from the time I was an analyst.” As many of her WASP peers also learned, flying was a dangerous and unpredictable job, even outside of combat. Ruth's experienced this first hand when a UC-78 plane she was flying began to emit copious smoke mid-flight, forcing Ruth and her co-pilot Esther Manning Shively to make an emergency landing in a farm field. A further investigation showed that defective wiring insulation had caused the landing gear to burn. Both women where cleared of any responsibility, but the incident recalled that upsetting moment Ruth experienced years ago at the World’s Fair. “I think I could have gotten killed easily,” she remarked. “I think I’m lucky I didn’t…I’m very lucky. [I was] relatively inexperienced. I did everything by the book pretty much. And I was careful. I had to be because I was afraid of things.”

By October of 1944 the WASP program was officially disbanded, but contrary to the abject disappointment experienced by many women in the organization, Ruth viewed the end of her WASP career with more relief than anger; “…when we were deactivated I wasn’t of two minds. The goddamn planes could kill me, or I could kill myself, you know, by doing something dumb. And so I think my main feeling, about sixty percent of me, was glad that I had made it and was still alive.”

Ruth may have had misgivings about flying, but she hoped to continue her career as a pilot even after she retired her WASP uniform. Despite her efforts to secure a job in the field, she was faced with the post-war reality of an America that was less than ready to see a woman at the helm of a plane, in a commercial sense at least. After a meeting with a business head about a potential job flying the company's planes, Ruth remembers the man “…looking me up and down like a piece of meat. You know, particularly my legs…He told me he didn’t think that the officers of the company would be comfortable flying with a woman. And that was the end of that.”

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="501.0"] Ruth Adams' assorted photos and WASP paraphernalia. Courtesy of the American Legacy Museum. [/caption]

While Ruth continued to pilot Cubs on occasion and even took helicopter lessons at one point, flying was no longer a viable career path for the former WASP. She took a several jobs in New York, first as a welder and later as an electrical technician, where her WASP credentials were a definite advantage; “They were very impressed. They really hired me because I was a WASP I think. An ex-WASP. That made me very attractive to them.”

When a psychiatrist she was seeing suggested that Ruth pursue a job in the medical field, the former pilot embarked on a career that would dominate the rest of her life. After gaining admission to NYU's prestigious medical program, she studied hard and rose to the top of her class. After finishing her studies in psychiatry, Ruth went on to practice at New York’s William Alanson White Psychiatric Institute as well as the Youth Authority of the City of New York, where she worked extensively with young patients. In the early 1970s she relocated to California to be near family and settled in Oakland where she served as a psychiatrist for the Alameda County emergency juvenile psychiatric facility.

On December 16, 2005, Ruth, who had retired nearly twenty years earlier and had devoted her later years to painting and sculpting, died suddenly after suffering a massive stroke. A self-proclaimed “independent” woman to the end, Ruth's inspiring career and service to her country and to the medical health profession are enduring reminders of the power of a woman determined to pursue her own goals as well as rise above adversity in any time period. For Ruth, whose courage was outstanding even in the face of perilous flying conditions, dramatic career changes, personal disadvantages, fear was never enough to keep her down.

"We all wanted to do something to help the war effort." --WASP Lucile Doll Wise

By Logan Walker

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="482.0"] Lucile Doll Wise. (Photo: Texas Woman's University) [/caption]

With the onset of U.S. involvement in WWII, much of the youth in America found themselves united in a common employment; aiding the country’s war effort. Such work was not just the purview of men, as evidenced by the scores of American women who functioned in military and paramilitary roles during the conflict. Kansas native Lucile Doll Wise was one of many such women who wished to help in service to her country, but the job she had her heart set on was one that had been unprecedented for women in the nation’s military history.

“We all wanted to do something to help the war effort. All my women friends were joining the military,” Wise remembers, reflecting on her decision to join the WASP so many years ago. “I did it for a lark, to add a little excitement to my life.”

For Wise, who took her first flying lesson on December 6, 1941, just a day before the infamous attacks on Pearl Harbor, her attachment to the job went beyond a mere bit of fun; “I loved flying, it’s such a wonderful feeling, you know, to be up in the air. It’s exhilarating, everything looks so beautiful. And then you’ve got the challenge of making the plane do what you want it to do.”

Fifty hours of logged flight time later, Wise was ready to add her talents to the war effort. In May 1943 her application to join the WASP was approved at nearly the same time that her brother, fresh out of high school, enlisted to join the Navy. While he would go on to return “…safely, but perhaps a bit damaged emotionally,” Wise’s own experience would be unforgettably exciting and empowering.

On her arrival at the WASP Sweetwater, Texas training camp, Wise soon realized that the flying preparation regimes for the female pilot hopefuls would be no different from that of the men; “We lived in barracks, we slept on metal cots, and we learned to march, and we were under military discipline, under demerits- we had to make our beds a certain way, and we had inspections. It was very stressful because we had to meet the requirements.”

Wise and her fellow trainees spent long hours in the air, at times seven days a week. Even more time was spent worrying about meeting graduation standards and even more pressingly, avoiding the hazardous and all-too-easy piloting mistakes that could have fatal consequences. As she noted, “…those of us that were left were really proud of those wings, because they worked hard for them.”

In November 1943, Wise was one of the successful WASP graduates to earn her wings and embark on a future flying military aircraft. Her first assignment was to the Asheville Weather Wing of the Army Airways Communication Systems in North Carolina, but soon after she was reassigned to the Army Air Forces Weather Service Region in Kansas City, Missouri.

Like many WASP, Wise's duties included ferrying military aircraft between bases, but most often she was assigned to fly weather officers to meetings and inspection trips at air force bases in the region.   During those trips, she flew quite a bit and covered a seven-state regional territory. While her passengers were always men, they seemed very comfortable with her piloting skills. That’s not to say that Wise had no issues with her position as a WASP;  “We had a handsome uniform and officer privileges, but I really wanted to be militarized and get a commission. We were working hard and did not realize that we were making history as the first U.S. women to fly military aircraft.” It was an issue that she would add her own weight to in years to come.

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600.0"] Lucile Wise poses with her basic trainer. (Photo: Denver Post) [/caption]

Constant contact with a variety of military planes was one of the perks of the job. Wise says, “When I started, we had a twin-engine Cessna. It was about a five passenger Cessna, it was kind of slow, but it was a nice, safe plane. And we had short hops between these air bases, so it was okay. But then we got a C-45, the Beechcraft C-45, which carried about ten passengers, and that was much more fun to fly.” Her favorite plane to fly was the AT-6 Texan, an apparent favorite among the girls. During her tenure as a WASP, Wise would fly a range of planes, including the Cessna UC-78, AT-11, C-60, B-25, and C-45.

“When traveling, I usually stayed on base in the nurse’s quarters, although sometimes we stayed in hotels,” Wise explained, adding that “one base in Nebraska had no women on base, and the small town had no hotels, so I was given a room in the hospital.” Wise’s trips were usually for periods of four to five days, with a day spent at one airbase at a time within her assigned seven-state region. Recalling this period in her life, she muses that “I loved every minute of it, but it was not easy. It was hard work, and I came back from trips pretty tired.”

When the news that Congress planned to disband the WASP, Wise joined many like her in feeling lost and disappointed in the wake of the sudden decision. “It was pretty much a shock,” she recalls. “We just didn’t know what to do with ourselves. We had been doing something that was just wonderful, and it was very hard to get our lives started again.“ After 19 months and 700 hours flying planes in service of the war effort, Lucile took off her wings and headed on to a more grounded life. After all that time, she noted with equal parts playfulness and pride, “[I] never scratched a plate.”

Adjusting to her new status wasn’t easy; “I missed it dreadfully for a while, but it was expensive, and going back to the small planes wasn’t nearly as much fun,” stated Wise. “We were spoiled. And then I married, and raised a family, so, I got involved in other things. I missed it very much. But I finally got over it. I still love to be around airplanes.”

Wise and her husband settled with their two children in Washington, DC, where she would be conveniently placed when the subject of the WASP re-emerged once again in her life many years later. In the late seventies, the issue of bestowing veteran status on the WASP was a much-contended topic in the government with groups like the Veterans Administration and the American Legion among other powerful organizations opposed granting the WASP this level of recognition. “Those groups had so much power, and they feared this would open the floodgates,” Wise asserted, presumably referring to other non-military groups who might hope for similar privileges.

Wise’s geographical location made her a perfect ally to her fellow WASP in their quest for recognition.  She happily added her support and lobbying efforts to the cause; “It was a thrill to attend the hearing and have contacts with Congressmen. It was a great help for a few of us who were without health insurance or in financial trouble to be eligible to be treated at military hospitals.”

The result of the hard work, by Wise and her fellow WASP was the 1977 legislation signed by President Carter recognizing the WASP and bestowing upon them military veteran status.

In recent years, Wise, who resides in Arvada, Colorado, has remained close to her WASP roots, meeting old colleagues and even flying occasionally. Through WASP reunions and meetings, she has made kept in touch with many fellow WASP. “I made some great friends in the WASP program,” she stated, adding “We all looked alike in our ‘zoot suits’…I am grateful for my opportunity to serve and I believe we all feel the same way. The WASPs went through a unique experience and I believe we all have a close bond.”

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600.0"] Lucile Wise, 92, awaits pilot Chad Graves as the two prepare to fly in a 1942 Boeing-Stearman biplane at Centennial Airport. (Photo: Denver Post) [/caption]

In 2012, at the age of 92, Wise took a very decidedly hands-on trip down memory lane when she took over the controls of a 1942 Boeing-Stearman biplane, one she may have remembered as a military training aircraft used during WWll. Stylishly outfitted in goggles, a headset, and a leather bomber jacket, she started the plane with the same giddy smile she might have worn almost seventy years ago.

“I’m so impressed by what women pilots are doing today, especially flying into combat,” the aging aviatrix said, reflecting on the modern state of women and flight. “They are doing some great flying and proving once again that women can fly military aircraft as well as men.”

To Wise, one of the courageous women who once flew planeloads of military officials state-to-state and fought victoriously to change government legislature, the vast extent of women’s competency is, without a doubt, very old news.

Iris Critchell: At 96, time has done little to slow her down

by Logan Walker

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="559.0"] Iris Critchell in front of a P-38 Lighting, 1944. (Photo: Museum of Flying, http://www.museumofflying.org/exhibits/cahof/iris-cummings-critchell) [/caption]

Years before she set foot in an airplane, Iris Critchell knew she wanted a different life than the kind most of her female classmates were being groomed for. Athletic and tomboyish, her sights were set early on the world of sports, competition, and adventure, areas largely outside the domain of 1920s schoolgirls; however, as her future career would bear out, Critchell rarely failed to achieve what she set her mind to.

Born in December 1920 in Los Angeles, Iris Critchell nèe Cummings was the daughter of a doctor and his Greek/Latin teacher wife. With her fondness for trousers and playing organized sports, she became known as something of a "kook” by other students, but her unusual reputation failed to dampen her passion for athletics. More daunting was the limited opportunities for girls to join a team.

Fortunately, Critchell found a unique ally in her father, who specialized in an area known today as sports medicine. A sports enthusiast and frequent participant in sporting events, her father supported her ambitions and encouraged her to excel. Critchell soon decided on swimming, a sport that women could compete in and her location near beaches and sports clubs could easily facilitate.

By 1933, Critchell had begun entering swimming competitions, her specialty being the 200-meter breaststroke, and by 1934 her training had paid off in several local victories. In no time she was participating in events such as the Far Western Championships Swim Meet along with the likes of future film star Esther Williams. Several competitive wins later she was on her way to the 1936 Summer Olympics in Berlin as a member of the U.S. swimming team. Critchell's ascent to the dizzy heights of Olympic sportswoman was heady, but the reality of her situation meant that she still had to strive to reach German soil; Olympic team funding was lacking, as the country was in the midst of the Depression, and Critchell was forced to raise money herself. These efforts, and the ten days she spent traveling to Europe by boat, meant she lost precious practice hours and finished her race in fourth place. Although she was disqualified from competing in the finals, Critchell was left with ample time to take in the rest of the historic events.

During her time in Berlin that summer, Critchell was afforded a front row seat to the rising tide of Nazism that had swept the nation, and the very men she would be helping to defeat in her later role in the war effort. She later recalled, “We saw Hitler, he was right there, and (Josef) Goebbels and (Hermann) Goering. We were so interested because my mother had helped me to understand a little bit more of what was going on… Everywhere you went there were the goose-step police and guards, but they were ordered to be friendly and so they were a little bit less intimidating.”

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="500.0"] American Olympic Women's Swimming Team (Photo: A Vibrant View: The Official Blog of Phi Mu Fraternity. Iris Critchell is on the bottom row, right) [/caption]

It was also in Berlin that Critchell began to get more involved in an area that she had long been interested in -- flying. “When I heard that the Germans would be holding a major air show during the Games, I was able to make arrangements to attend," the future WASP noted, adding that "Since Germany had been restricted by treaty after World War I as to how many engine-powered airplanes it could build, this show consisted mainly of gliders. The point is: The Nazis had found a way to train hundreds of young pilots without breaking any laws.” It would be two years before flying took center stage in her life, but the impression of this event would stay with Critchell long after she departed the ominous arena.

After her return to America, Critchell continued as a competitive swimmer for several years, graduating from Redondo Union High School in 1937 and moving on to college studies at the University of Southern California. By 1939 she officially retired from swimming; the shadow of imminent war had begun to fall over the nation, and it was increasingly apparent that larger political events would derail any plans for a 1940 Summer Olympics. Instead, Critchell had turned her full attention to flying, beginning her first lessons at the Los Angeles International Airport in 1939. For 30 minutes at four dollars a session, she scaled the heights above a sun-drenched field in a 40-horsepower Piper Cub plane. A year later she had earned a pilot’s license at just 18 years old, the earliest age that one could be legally held. She enrolled in the first year of the Civilian Pilot Training Program (CPTP) offered at USC, and typical to her iconoclastic track record, became the only woman in a class of 50.

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600.0"] Iris Critchell climbing into a plane. (Photo: SCPR courtesy of CJ Productions, "Off-Ramp Recommends: Celebrating Women's History Month with a 96yo WWII Test Pilot") [/caption]

"Flying, along with getting a college education, was something I had to do," remembered Critchell, who became one of only several women at the time to complete a second, third, and fourth year of pilot training. “By the time I was a senior, I had earned a private pilot's license and a ground- instructor's rating. I had also taken a CPTP [Civilian Pilot Training Program] course in aerobatics at USC that involved 65 hours of open cockpit flying in a variety of biplanes." Following her graduation she began working as a flight instructor, until dramatic events on the world stage intervened. As she explained, “I was busy on my first job doing that when Pearl Harbor occurred. And then our lives were forever changed.”

In the wake of that disaster, Critchell was relocated but continued flight training for a year until she learned that the government was recruiting civilian pilots to join the newly formed WASP program. Eager to sign up, she became one of second class of women to join the organization, graduating from training in May of 1943 as a member of WASP Class 43-2. Soon after gaining her wings she was sent to a ferry unit in Long Beach, California where she flew a total of 18 different aircraft including the P-38, P-51, A-20, C-47, B-25, and the P-61 Black Widow fighter. Reflecting on this time, Critchell calls her days as a WASP a “fabulous experience,” noting, “We were pilots and civilians, but those of us who had enough experience and background were transitioned rapidly into fighter aircraft. I flew all four of the single-engine fighters and all twin-engine bombers in the ferrying division."

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="500.0"] Iris standing next to a display of her old uniform at the P-38 Museum in Riverside. (Photo: The Press-Enterprise) [/caption]

The disbandment of the WASP brought Critchell’s days as an Army pilot to an end, but her flying career was far from over. She went on to marry Howard Critchell, an Army Air Corps pilot she had met during the war. The two moved to Palos Verdes Estates, and Critchell went to work at her USC College of Aeronautics, where she helped to develop and teach a pilot training curriculum. Among the courses she was responsible for was the school’s instrument pilot training, a class she explains was notable because “…there were experienced instructors up there from that military school, but they were not experienced in instrument flying. I happened to learn to do instrument flying as part of my experience with WASP. Well, I enjoyed doing that but it was very intense. Again, it was like the wartime experience in which we had no time off- we were going all the time.”

Having experienced both scenarios herself, the program she worked on aimed to help transition war veterans into civilian aviation. For much of the 1950s the former WASP focused largely on raising her two children at home, although she made sure to take the occasional recreational flight. During this time she was also active in 14 of the 30 Women’s Transcontinental Air Races, (also known as Powder Puff Derbies), finishing second twice before winning the race in 1957 (and finishing in the top 10 a total of 5 times). Starting in the early 1950’s she was also a member and supporter of the Ninety-Nines, an organization based around promoting women in aviation.

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="400.0"] Iris after her induction into the Women Pioneer Hall of Fame at the International Women in Aviation Conference, 2007. (Photo: Airport Journals) [/caption]

In 1962, Critchell re-entered the professional world to found the Bates Aeronautics Program at Claremont’s Harvey Mudd College with her husband. The program instructed students in aeronautics and physical sciences combined with practical piloting lessons. Iris ran the program, jointly and later alone, until it was eventually eliminated by the college in 1990. By that time she had helped guide over 700 students to their piloting licenses.

Even in retirement, Critchell continued to teach a small number of aspiring flyers, maintaining partial ownership of a 1970 four passenger Cessna 172 for her personal use. Her impressive contributions to aviation have earned her a place in the halls of fame of the Women of Aviation, California Aviation, and National Association of Flight Instructors. She has also been the recipient of a number of awards, including the FAA Wright Brothers “Master Pilot” Award.

Today, 96-year-old Iris Critchell lives in Claremont, California. The survivor of an extraordinary life, time has done little to slow her down. She still devotes time to working with Harvey Mudd students and curating the schools Aeronautical Library Special Collection. A tireless advocate of piloting in general and females in flight in particular, her efforts in promoting aviation in her community and beyond continue to this day, and will surely resonate for generations to come.

Remembering Marty Wyall

by Hannah Wyall

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="300.0"] Marty Wyall, WASP. (Photo: Hannah Wyall) [/caption]

"Her legacy lives on in us all."

I always knew my Grandma Marty was special. The way she carried herself was different from other people. She always had a sense of pride that lingered wherever she ventured. 

Growing up with Marty was always interesting. She had so much knowledge and such a thirst for life and she loved to share it with me and my sisters. We went to the symphony, botanical gardens, the zoo, and the airport. At the airport, she would tell us stories, and we’d watch planes take off and land. On the way home, she’d sit behind the wheel and swear at the old ladies driving slow in front of her. “Move along ladybug!” she'd shout.

Grandma Marty never really treated us like children. Of course, she would let us play but she always expected us to be responsible for ourselves -- to not get lost and to be on time. Her version of spoiling us was putting a layer of butter on our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Marty was a wise woman and taught me many things, one of the most important being that nothing is out of reach. If she wanted to do something, she would just do it. She instilled that in me as well. Her stubborn genes lost none of their potency on their way down the ladder.

I am one of the fortunate few who always knew growing up that I could be a pilot. Granted, I don’t think it would have made much difference because I also wanted to be a professional NFL football player. Like Marty, I never really cared what was normal, I just wanted what I wanted. I always managed to wind my way back to wanting to be a pilot, though. Marty always encouraged me down that path and suggested that if I wanted to fly I should really think about going to the Air Force Academy. At that time though, I'd never heard of it. After all, I was in the 6th grade, but her encouragement is what started me down the path to where I am today.

While I was at the Academy, Marty managed to charm her way into getting a paid trip to see me every year to give an award to a basketball player. She also shared in my commissioning ceremony from that esteemed institution.

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="1000.0"] Hannah (in uniform) and Marty (on her left) with their family at Hannah's graduation from the Air Force Academy. (Photo: Hannah Wyall) [/caption]

Every time I would go through some sort of world-ending trial in pilot training (a common occurrence for young pilots) I would think about that time she looped a plane she didn’t know she wasn’t supposed to loop. The only reason she didn’t die that day is because the one plane that was slightly different and could handle the loop was the one she happened to be flying on that particular day. If that doesn’t put the fear of God in you I don’t know what will.

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="500.0"] Hannah with Marty, proudly displaying her WASP Congressional Gold Medal. (Photo: Hannah Wyall) [/caption]

Even though I got older, Marty never really seemed to age. Sure, she had some minor physical issues that come with age, but she lived on her own, drove her own car, maintained her garden, fended off the mink that would steal the orange carp out of her pond, baked yon hagels every Christmas, hiked mountains in Utah with my cousins, dance the night away with her friends, and religiously attended events including the Oshkosh Air Show and the WASP homecoming in Sweetwater. She never lost her lust for travel and adventure. She was going to outlive everyone. 

Just a few months ago, Marty had made plans to visit friends in South Carolina and she asked me if I’d go to the WASP homecoming with her. I hope that I'll still be going this year, even though it will not be in the way that I'd expected.

Marty was part of the elite group, the WASP, who taught us that the word “pilot” is not synonymous with any descriptor other than “driven.” More important to me than the issued wings that I earned when I graduated pilot training are the WASP wings that I earned on that same day that grace the fingers of all the pilots in my family. Not only was Marty an inspiring pilot, she was an inspiring person. Her legacy lives on in us all.

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="400.0"] Marty Wyall on the WASP Rose Bowl Parade Float in 2014. (Photo: Hannah Wyall) [/caption]

"Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, --and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of --Wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air...
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark or even eagle flew --
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God."

--John Gillespie Magee Jr.

Mary Anna Martin "Marty" Wyall
January 24, 1922 - March 9, 2017

Willa Brown: Teacher, Civil Rights Activist, Lobbyist, and Aviation Pioneer

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="410.0"] Willa Brown earned her pilot's license in 1938. (Photo: The History Makers: http://ow.ly/XN6j307y5xh) [/caption]

Willa Brown was born in 1906 in Kentucky, the daughter of Reverend and Mrs. Erice B. Brown. She graduated from high school in Terra Haute, Indiana and attended college, earning a bachelors in Education from the Indiana State Teachers College in 1927.

After briefly teaching at Roosevelt High School in Gary, Indiana, she moved to Chicago, Illinois to become a social worker.  It was there that she decided to pursue her interest in aviation. 

In 1934 Brown began to train under Cornelius Coffey, a self-taught African-American pilot and founder of the Coffey School of Aeronautics in Chicago. During this time she once again attended school and by 1937 she had earned a Masters Mechanic Certificate from the Aeronautical University of Chicago, MBA from Northwestern University and Civil Aeronautics Administration ground school instructor's rating.

Brown earned her private pilot's license in 1938, the first African American woman to achieve that feat--and with a score of 96 of 100 on the exam. She and Coffey later married and formed the National Airmen's Association of America, dedicated to the integration of the Army Air Corps. 

In an interview with The History Makers, Walter Hill, Jr. recounted Willa Brown's petition to host an aviation training school for black men at the beginning of the war:

“She petitioned the War Department when it made the decision to train black men to become pilots…They went out to various institutions to find out who would be willing to host a training school. Willa Brown’s application to the War Department was that she could do that in her flying school ‘cause she had been training black pilots since the late 1930s. She was very prominent in the field. She lost out of course; Tuskegee was one of the institutions that won, and that’s why they became the Tuskegee Airmen.”

Though Brown's school was not selected, she continued supplying trainees to the Tuskegee Airmen training program. By the time the US entered the war, the Coffey school had trained hundreds of men and women. In 1941, Brown was commissioned the first African-American officer in the Civil Air Patrol and named federal coordinator of the Civil Air Patrol unit in Chicago.

After the war, Brown would become involved in politics and ran for Congress. Though she lost, it was groundbreaking for African-American women who were later inspired by her to run for office. She remained heavily involved with issues important to her, especially racial and gender integration of the Army Air Corps.

Willa Brown-Chappell (she remarried in 1955), retired from teaching school in 1971 and a year later, she was appointed to the FAA Women's Advisory Board, in recognition of her contributions to aviation. She would remain active in her work and causes important to her for another twenty years until her death from a stroke at the age of 86.

Ann Karlson Kenney loved being a WASP!

by Christina Leigh Burns

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="960.0"] Ann Karlson Kenney in her open cockpit plane. (Photo: Kenney family) [/caption]

Ann Karlson Kenney learned to fly in the Chicago area Civil Air Patrol before becoming a Link Trainer instructor for the Navy pilots in Atlanta. In 1942, she graduated from the WASP training and was assigned to ferried planes in Wilmington, Delaware, after which she worked towing gliders training to land quietly behind enemy lines in preparation for the D-Day invasion.

On learning to fly solo in the C-60 Lockheed Lodestar, Kenney said, "What a thrill it was to take that big plane up as first pilot". In Texas, Kenney also towed targets for gunnery practice.  Over the years, she loved to talk about her time as a WASP flying the P-40, B-26, B-17, C-60 Lockheed Lodestar, and the AT-6.

Kenney's grandson, Kent Hamm, recalls, "One of my favorite stories is of her crash landing of a P-40 Warhawk in Tennessee. This story is not noted in her journal, nor was she proud that she crashed this plane, but the unbelievable experience of crash landing a P-40 Warhawk and surviving to tell her grandson about it 50 years later is truly a unique story and one I'll never forget. 

The carburetor iced up, which resulted in engine trouble. She told me of a farmer's field she saw that could provide a decent landing area. She set the plane down in this field and was rescued by a local who was very surprised to find a women in this military war plane as pilot.

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="262.0"] The Curtiss-Wright P-40 Warhark. (Photo: WWII Archives) [/caption]

I recently discovered that this experience is in fact documented by the USAF. My mother has copies of the investigation reports. The crash investigation reports note icing in the engine carburetor as the main cause of the accident. The reports also states the witnesses of her crash, the sights and sound of the failing engine. Also the circling of the airplane to find a suitable landing sight.

Not many women have flown a P-40, even less could say the survived a crash landing in the same plane."

Ann Kenney passed away in 1996; however, her legacy lives on with stories she left behind with friends and family and her detailed journal that chronicles her time as a WASP. Her family accepted a Congressional Gold Medal on her behalf at the ceremony in 2010.

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="500.0"] Ann Karlson Kenney (Photo: Kenney family) [/caption]

Dr. Mary McLeod Bethune: Educator, Stateswoman, Civil Rights Activist. She Played A Vital Part In The Integration of Pilot Training Programs For African-Americans.

From Annotations: The NEH Preservation Project

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="253.0"] Young Mary Jane McLeod Bethune. (Photo: Emory University) [/caption]

"As a small child, Mary Jane McLeod would routinely accompany her mother to deliver the "white people's" wash. Allowed into the white children's nursery, Mary would find amusement playing with their toys. In one instance, she curiously opened a book. Immediately, one of the white children snatched it from her exclaiming, "Put that down. You can't read!" Mary thought, "Maybe the difference between white folks and colored is just this matter of reading and writing." At that moment, the seeds for a life of learning and teaching were planted.

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="238.0"] Dr. Mary McLeod Bethune. (Photo: Emory University) [/caption]

During the 1930's, Dr. Mary McLeod Bethune was head of the National Council of Negro Women. Using her professional relationship with President Franklin Roosevelt and friendship with First Lady Eleanor,  she successfully lobbied against segregation and for integration of the New Deal's Pilot Training program. Her efforts resulted in West Virginia State College becoming the first black school to institute an aviation program and eventually the creation of the Tuskegee Institute. 

Click here to listen to former First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt interviewing her friend Mary McLeod Bethune in a 1949 radio broadcast in support of 'interracial understanding' courtesy of WNYC.

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="549.0"] Mary McLeod Bethune and Eleanor Roosevelt at the opening of Midway Hall, May 1943. (Photo: WNYC.com) [/caption]

You can read more at the PBS Biography of Mary McLeod Bethune.

Spitfire Sisters: The Women of the British ATA

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="962.0"] ATA initially employed eight women pilots, some of whom are seen here at Hatfield in January 1940 (Photo: IWM/Getty) [/caption]

The Air Transport Auxiliary (ATA) was a civilian organization founded in England at the beginning of WWII. During the war, more than 1,200 civilian men and women pilots from 25 countries ferried more than 300,000 Royal Air Force (RAF) and Royal Navy (RN) warplanes between factories, repair facilities and the air bases. They flew in all kinds of weather and in dangerous situations. A number of the planes had no radios and at times pilots were required to ferry planes they had never flown before.

Women joined the ATA in January 1940 when the first eight were recruited by Pauline Gower. The women, who were paid less than their male counterparts, were placed in non-operational planes like trainers and communication aircraft. Thanks to Pauline's persistent efforts, the women of the ATA eventually began flying the Hurricane, Spitfire and Lancaster bomber aircraft. In 1943, the women were finally paid the same as the men they flew with. Nearly 170 women flew for the ATA including a number of American women recruited by Jackie Cochran.

Catherine Parker Chatham on being a WASP: "I don’t think I have ever worked as hard, before or since, but I wanted so much to finish.”

by Logan Walker

"I took off long ago to fly the skies of life.. And I climbed through clouds of happiness.. Along with storms of strife... And I enjoyed each moment… Whether VFR or not… For God is my instructor… And I am his student… To be taught. Lo, whether I’m 'on instruments'... Or the skies are cloudless blue… I’ll meet each challenge I encounter… With faith and courage too. For my Tutor has been patient... And He’s helped me file 'flight plans.' I know my 'final landing'... Is in His precious hands.”

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="296.0"] Catherine Parker Chatham (Photo used with permission from Texas Woman's University) [/caption]

So reads the quote inscribed by a classmate in the opening pages of a WASP class reunion booklet. Although the author and intended speaker remain undisclosed, such a poem could be said to aptly describe the book’s owner, Catherine Parker Chatham, whose days as a WASP were filled with “flight plans” and “final landings”. Chatham's days of scaling the cloudless blue skies were not lacking in challenges nor the courage to meet them either.

 A descendant of some of the first European settlers in Brazos County, Texas, Chatham was born in the city of Bryan. Her father, the owner of Parker Lumber Company, was a flight enthusiast who passed his passion to his daughter at an early age; “When a barnstormer would land and take people on rides, he, my mother and all of the children, no matter how small we were, would take turns flying. It was such an exhilarating experience that after graduation from Stephen F. Austin High in 1938, I went to work at this new airfield outside of town called Coulter Field,” Chatham recalled. Such a career move was largely strategic, since the burgeoning pilot knew the work would “…pay for flight lessons and flight time after I got my license. After the war broke out, I continued to work at Coulter Field until I decided to join the WASP.”

For Chatham, who longed for adventure and to join the ranks of her brothers and boyfriend who were already participating in the war effort, the prospect of flying in service of her country was irresistible.  After applying for the program, Chatham received a physical and was sent to San Antonio for an official interview.

“After I was accepted, I got my 'draft notice' and I was sent to Sweetwater, Texas for flight school,” Chatham stated, adding, “We had the same training as the males. We had navigation classes, meteorology classes, ground school and flight school. We marched to ground school. We marched to the flight line. We marched to meals. I don’t think I have ever worked as hard, before or since, but I wanted so much to finish.”

The trials of WASP training were made clear to the young aviatrix as her time in Sweetwater wore on. Class 44-W-9 began with 110 eager recruits yet only 55 women graduated, as difficult training regiments and dangerous plane maneuvers drew many away and even ended the lives of two classmates. As Chatham noted, “One of my friends made it almost to the end of training when she said, 'I can’t do this anymore.' When the men washed out, they were sent to the infantry. When the women washed out, they were sent home.”

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="960.0"] Chatham receiving the Congressional Gold Medal from Maj Katherine Burkhead (Photo: The Eagle/Stuart Villanueva http://theeagle.com) [/caption]

After her successful completion of the training program, Chatham promptly found herself assigned to Marana Airbase in Tucson, Arizona. There she completed check flights for pilots and engineered flight checks on newly repaired planes, flying mainly the BT-13 aircraft. The independence and adventure of a pilot’s lifestyle suited her. Years later her nephew Marshall Parker remembered that his aunt “…wore slacks back before women ever wore slacks…had a crop haircut, and was pretty independent.” Chatham remained active in her WASP duties until the organization was disbanded at the end of 1944. 

Life after the WASP provided new adventures for Chatham, who moved back to Bryan, Texas and began working at the photography business of future husband Roland, a former combat photographer. Together the two created a collection of photographs that are currently in the archives of Texas A&M University’s Cushing Library.  Aside from indexing the business’s photographs, Chatham made use of her piloting skills in her post-war career, flying herself and Roland over the cities of Bryan and College Station while the latter took aerial photos. The couple, who frequently raced antique British automobiles together, married in their sixties, a subject of much jest for Chatham who commented, “I guess you could say I married the boss.” 

As her niece Candy Thompson explained, “My aunt always said as a joke that they decided to get married because she was pregnant. But the truth is, he was a photographer she had known and worked together with all her life in the studio, and when he had a stroke, she said she wouldn’t move in with him to take care of him unless they were married.” 

For Chatham, who devoted much of her time to her church, St Andrews Episcopal, and community service efforts, official recognition of her wartime efforts finally came in 2010 when she was given the Congressional Gold Medal for her services as a WASP. In a uniquely fitting gesture, she bypassed the many politicians who volunteered to award her the medal personally, insisting instead that she receive it from a modern female pilot. Air Force Major Katherine Burkhead, a B-52 pilot with more than 300 hours of combat flying over Afghanistan was given that honor.  

On August 25, 2016, six years after receiving her Congressional Gold Medal, Catherine Chatham passed away at the age of 95, in her hometown of Bryan, Texas. She is deeply mourned and fondly remembered, even by those who knew her fleetingly like Burkhead, who was among the attendees at her funeral.   To Chatham’s niece Candy and nephew Marshall, the duties of cleaning out their aunt’s St. Joseph Manor Apartment yielded surprising results when they discovered a trove of WASP related artifacts, including pilot logs, journals, and a medal from political figures including Nancy Pelosi and John Boehner. Remembering her aunt, Thompson notes, “If you knew Catherine, you loved her, you couldn’t help yourself.”  Thompson’s description of her aunt might serve as a fitting epithet for a woman known by those close to her for her independence and irrepressible love of flying. She said, “Catherine was a free spirit. I think that’s why she and I are close and bonded a lot of our lives. She got into piloting because she said she had the feeling, the freedom of flying.”

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="550.0"] Catherine Chatham fondly recalled her WASP days. (Photo: The Eagle/Stuart Villanueva http://theeagle.com) [/caption]