The first plane I ever flew with my student at Pearl Harbor that morning was supposed to be an ordinary lesson. Then I saw aircraft coming by marked with the red sun, and I couldn’t figure out what was happening until one of them started shooting at me. I grabbed the controls, landed, and two days later they found two civilian aircraft washed ashore, the pilots shot down and killed. Later, from the balcony of my house, I watched a bomb drop on a little community on one side of Honolulu.
The flames came up and burned down houses, and the planes were flying overhead, but I still didn’t know who they were. I went back inside and turned on the radio, and the voices were shouting that Japan was attacking. That was the beginning of a very scary day. The world was at war, and enemy aircraft dominated the skies of Europe and the Pacific.
America’s male pilots were being deployed overseas, leaving a critical shortage of pilots at home. With military aircraft production more than doubling after Pearl Harbor, the armed forces needed pilots to test and ferry the new planes to their departure points. Two of the most famous female aviators of the time, Jacqueline Cochran and Nancy Harkness Love, separately proposed using women pilots in the military. In the 1940s, a woman piloting a US military aircraft was unheard of.
But the need became urgent. The demand for combat pilots escalated, and the shortage of test and ferrying pilots forced the military to consider training women. Aircraft were being cranked out so fast to support the war effort, and with the men busy overseas, this was a perfect opportunity for women to get involved. They did, and they did a fantastic job.
On September 10, 1942, the Women’s Auxiliary Ferrying Squadron was created, with Nancy Harkness Love in command. The original 28 female pilots became the first women to fly for the US military. To even be considered, a woman had to have at least 500 hours of flying time, a commercial license, and a 250 horsepower rating. Recognizing that not enough women held these qualifications, General Hap Arnold authorized Jacqueline Cochran to form a second program, the Women’s Flying Training Detachment, to train women pilots for the ferrying division.
The flying time required started at 200 hours and was gradually reduced to 35. These young girls were really breaking the mold. They found a way somehow to get their license so they could qualify. On August 5, 1943, the two programs merged into the Women’s Air Force Service Pilots, the WASP.
Twenty-five thousand American women applied, many still in their teens, others in their fifties, all hoping to fulfill their dream of flying by serving their country. They came from all walks of life, from chorus girls to farmers’ daughters, and from all parts of the country to begin training the Army way. What people don’t realize today is that these young women were all volunteers, brave civilians willing to perform unique military jobs. According to General Hap Arnold, we could not have won the war without them.
Out of the 25,000 volunteers, only 1,830 were accepted, and of those, only 1,074 successfully completed the training. Houston, Texas became the first training site, but training soon moved to the drier Sweetwater, Texas, where Avenger Field was transformed into the first women-only military flying school in the world. It was a very exciting time for all of us. We were told in advance what was going to happen, and of course there was the excitement of just being there and meeting all these people for the first time.
The primary thing was that we were all there for one purpose: the love of flying. The barracks bays had six cots and a latrine with two sinks, two commodes, and two showers. So twelve women tried to get ready at 6 a. m.
every day. We learned to put our zoot suit coveralls over our pajamas, go to mess, have breakfast, and then come back for the battle of the latrine. All of that was quite different from civilian life. But the camaraderie was great.
I had five other females in my bay, and we were all very close. You get close because you don’t know if you’re going to be alive the next day. We first started flying Stearman, and they issued us old men’s GI coveralls, because there had never been women in the Army Air Corps before. Everything they issued us was for men.
We were up every morning at 6 a. m. , with four hours at the flight line, four hours of ground school, one hour of marching, one hour of exercise, and anything else they could give us until 10 p. m.
It was exactly like the cadet training for the men, except the men didn’t have to have a license or any flying experience to get in. Training to become a WASP wasn’t easy. The possibility of washing out was our biggest fear. We relied on each other and were very good companions.
If someone had a problem, we would help her out, either in ground school or in flying. The bond became tighter. The pressure was intense, and we all wanted to succeed. Nobody wanted to wash out.
It was nerve-racking because we never knew who would be next. You could be washed out for a matter that didn’t even involve flying. You were caught fraternizing, you were out. Too many demerits, you were out.
There was no getting around it. On weekends we went into town, but we had a curfew. If you didn’t get in on time, you got demerits. You got demerits for not turning the lights out on time, for not having your clothing in the locker the right way.
So many demerits and you were out. About a little less than 50% of each class washed out. I don’t think it was because they couldn’t fly. It was that they couldn’t learn at the speed they wanted us to.
I always felt very sorry for the girls who washed out. Early on, the WASP decided they wanted a mascot, and they found her in Fifinella, a female Gremlin from a proposed Walt Disney movie, an imaginary being endowed with magical powers and full of mischief. Walt Disney generously agreed to let them use her. The official mascot was worn as a patch on flight jackets and painted on aircraft.
Flight training was tough. The Army used BT-13s to teach blind instrument flying, with a curtain covering the rear cockpit so the pilot had to fly by instruments only. Pilots who became overconfident or broke rules sometimes suffered heartbreaking consequences. One day, I was just getting ready to sit in the front, and one of the WASP came over and said, “Would you care if I rode with my best friend, who had the cover overhead in the backseat?
” I said, “No, I don’t care. Go ahead. ” The next thing we knew, their plane had crashed, and they were both in the hospital because they were buzzing a tree and hit it. They brought the plane back to an area on Avenger Field, and we marched out after dinner that night and were made to look at the aircraft.
It was not a pretty sight. If we ever wanted to buzz again, we lost any interest. Even for experienced pilots, flight training had dangers. Janet Simpson lost her best friend in a mid-air collision.
For some reason they just didn’t see each other. Elizabeth jumped, but at 1,800 feet the parachute opened too late. The pilot in the other plane was killed instantly. That was my first experience with death.
They wanted me to take her belongings home, and I just couldn’t. I said, “Could you find somebody who didn’t know her so well? ” We all pitched in money for her burial and to send her home to her parents. She never got a burial flag or anything.
Nothing in those days. In all, 38 WASP gave their lives for the war effort. There must be something about me and first solos. This was my first solo in the AT-6.
I was approaching the first field where I was supposed to land, and all of a sudden I saw smoke and fire coming out of the exhaust. What went through my mind was, I could jump if things get bad. But then they’re going to question me as to what happened, and I might get washed out. I think I’ll stick with the airplane.
I radioed and said I would like to make an emergency landing. They cleared me. I landed, and they found out what was wrong with the aircraft. There really was something wrong.
I went back and got over it, and I didn’t have to face washing out. Another night, about 1 a. m. , I took off from Avenger Field heading to San Angelo, my first leg, then I picked up a new heading.
Well, I flew into San Angelo, changed my course, and started out, and all of a sudden I had complete electrical failure. Fortunately it was a nice moonlit night. I said, “Well, I guess my alternative is to do a 180 and go back to San Angelo. ” Which I did.
When I got there, all the lights were out, just perimeter lights as I remember. I buzzed the field, came around, buzzed it again, and landed. As I started to taxi, a little jeep came out with a sign behind it saying “Follow me. ” I followed him back to the flight line, where there was a welcoming committee.
When I got out and stood on the wing, I could hear someone say, “My God, it’s a woman. ”
Throughout each phase of training, there remained the fear of washing out, of becoming the empty bunk in the barracks. The pressure increased during check flights with male officers. We had a young lieutenant who came back from overseas.
He’d been in combat, and he was acting as my final check flight. I had passed the civilian check, and now I was going to have the Army check flight. We took off, and he put me through different paces. Everything was fine.
Finally he said, “Well, before we go back to the base, let’s throw it off into a spin, kick it off into a spin. ” I said, “Sir. ” He said, “A spin. ” I said, “Well, I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.
”
So I kicked it off into a spin and tried to pull it out. Nothing happened. I dropped it and tried again, and nothing happened. He was saying, “I’ve got the controls.
” I said to him, “Sir, don’t you dare touch those controls,” and dumped it again and pulled it out of the spin. I knew at that point that I had passed. When we got down on the field, that little lieutenant, very quiet, said to me, “Miss Chase, that was a very good flight. ”
But we had been told never, ever to spin a six.
I could not tell him that when I was up in the air. I knew if he had touched the controls, I would have been eliminated. I knew I was washed out. And I wasn’t going to have that for anything.
I figured if I had to fly it into the ground, that was going to be it. These young women continued to break all tradition and exceed expectations, all for the right to become WASP. I graduated and was assigned to Gunter Field, Montgomery, Alabama, as a test pilot. I also ferried, and I also instructed.
It was great. Wherever you were given orders, that’s where you had to go. I would have loved to have been in the ferry command because they got to fly a lot of different aircraft, but I was stationed at Pecos, Texas, where they had UC-78s and AT-17s, advanced twin aircraft. One of my jobs was engineering testing.
When they did an overhaul on an airplane, it had to be flown in a certain manner for a certain number of hours before it was turned over to the students. Another job was flying personnel around the country. That part I liked very much. I was going to be stationed at Blackland Army Air Force Base in Waco, Texas, with my best friend, Nancy.
I wanted to fly B-25s, but I made the mistake of saying twin engine, and that’s what I got, AT-10s. I reported for duty the next morning and said, “Sir, I’m reporting for duty as your new test pilot. ” He said, “Jesus Christ. ” I said, “No, Betty Vincent.
” He was in shock because no woman had ever been in that hangar before. But right away he got a twin engine airplane, an instructor, and a parachute for me. They gave me three hours of dual, and the instructor said, “There, you’re test pilot. I’ve taught you all I know about this airplane.
”
The next morning I came down to the hangar, and there were eight AT-10s to be tested. I tested them just as if I knew what I was doing. And I did. Betty Blake tells about an experience she had while ferrying a P-39 Airacobra fighter over the farmland of Illinois.
It was early morning, and I don’t know why I looked back. The sun was behind me. I looked back and saw this black smoke pouring out of the back of the plane. I should have bailed out.
I was at 20,000 feet or something like that. It was an awful long way to the ground. I looked down a couple times, looked back, and thought, “I think there’s a little less smoke coming out than a minute ago. ” I told myself it was.
I made it into the field and landed. When they pulled the cowling off the engine, it was charred. I don’t know who protected me that day. I was very lucky.
WASPs were also assigned to help train Army ground forces by flying searchlight, radar, and strafing missions. One of the more dangerous assignments was pulling targets for live anti-aircraft practice. The gunners were all young guys, really 18-year-olds, and they’d never shot those guns before, so you never knew what would happen. If you saw a tracer bullet going in front of you, you got out of there real quick.
It was dangerous, but you did what you could, and I loved it. I was flying. My job was to take damaged aircraft and fly them to the depot and pick up repaired aircraft and bring them back, deliver personnel, deliver material, do engineering jobs, slow flights to check if a cadet was right about a problem. They called them dishwashing jobs, little jobs that had to be done, but it relieved a man for combat.
That was the main goal, not to replace men but to relieve them for combat. With the war raging on, more WASPs were assigned to ferry aircraft to both coasts for shipping to all fronts. In all, the WASP ferried over 12,000 military aircraft between 1942 and 1944, about 50% of every aircraft manufactured in the United States during the war. They were really short of pilots, so when they really needed planes moved and didn’t have men to do it, they finally thought, “Well, I guess we’ll have to check a girl out in them.
” They’d hand you the report and everything, and you’d have to sit at home at night and study it, then go out and fly one. Sometimes they never checked you out. You just got in it and flew. One of the first WASPs killed in the line of duty was Cornelia Fort, the pilot who narrowly escaped being shot down at Pearl Harbor.
On March 21, 1943, while ferrying a BT-13, another plane being ferried by a male pilot struck her aircraft, forcing her to crash. As the WASPs continued to prove themselves, their jobs expanded. Some were chosen for top secret missions. By 1944, England was receiving devastating blows from German V-2 rockets.
General Arnold authorized a secret mission code-named Operation Aphrodite to develop technology to fly unmanned radio-controlled aircraft and crash them into V-2 launch sites. Helen Snapp was one of the few WASPs assigned. Small unmanned robot planes were used, but testing larger planes required a pilot in the drone to take control if something went wrong. That was Helen’s job.
The robot plane they used most of the time was about six feet long and couldn’t carry a pilot. Then they had the PQ-8s and PQ-14s, which we had to ride as safety pilot and also learn to control in the same way as the unmanned robot. It was a lot of fun, but if the mothership didn’t keep close enough, they lost control. That’s the reason they wanted a safety pilot in there.
For two glorious years, the WASP played a vital role in helping win the war, shattering the idea that women had no place in the cockpit of a military plane. They flew 60 million miles in every type of Army Air Force aircraft and in every type of non-combat mission. Their safety record exceeded that of male pilots doing the same jobs. By early 1944, the Allies had critically weakened the German and Japanese Air Forces, and more American pilots were surviving.
We didn’t need as many flight schools to train more pilots, which meant the male flight instructors in the United States were out of jobs. Then they looked and saw all these women flying these airplanes domestically, and they decided they wanted those jobs. When General Arnold sought militarization for the WASP, the complaints by male flight instructors and returning veterans caught the ears of the press and Congress. A nasty anti-WASP campaign ensued.
It was just terrible. The men made fun of us, belittled us, didn’t like us. They said women should stay at home, stay in the kitchen. The media pictured us as flighty women with a glamorous job and said it was a waste of public money to train us.
They said all kinds of weird, horrible things. I couldn’t believe people would actually listen to them, but they did. It caused a lot of problems. I think I had more discrimination from women than I ever did from men.
Our program had started as an experiment. We were paid by civil service, but we were promised that if the program became successful, we would be taken into the Army Air Corps. We even had to sign papers agreeing to continue once we were taken in, so we wouldn’t take this expensive training and go home. Both Cochran and Arnold wanted the women pilots to be made part of the Army Air Forces, but Congress opposed it.
In June of ’44, the House Committee on the Civil Service delivered the WASP a crippling blow. They reported that the WASP was unnecessary and unjustifiably expensive, and they recommended that the recruiting and training of all women pilots end. We were all excited when we got down there because it looked as if it was going to happen, that we were going to be taken into the Air Corps because the program was successful. Then it became doubtful, and finally the bill General Arnold put before Congress was defeated by only 19 votes.
After proving they could handle the latest fighters and heaviest bombers, it all came to an abrupt end. On December 20, 1944, they were quietly and unceremoniously disbanded. There were no honors, no veterans’ benefits, and very few thank-yous. We were at Avenger Field for the advanced instrument course when we heard Jackie Cochran was flying in that late afternoon.
Of course we were excited, thinking she was coming for a brief visit. She landed, and we went up to the flight line and sat around in a great big circle. She told us that Hap Arnold had deactivated the group that day, and that we were going to be deactivated on the 20th of December. There wasn’t a word said.
There wasn’t a dry eye amongst any of us. I can’t remember how long we sat there. Then we simply got up and went back to the barracks. We could not believe that we had flown every single airplane the Air Force had and done everything the men had done, and yet they were going to get rid of us.
It was a sad day. I thought we were going to be in there for some time, and it was a crushing blow. I really felt like we were being fired, because we didn’t know about the atomic bomb. We didn’t know the war was soon going to end.
We couldn’t understand why we were being sent home. It was devastating, but we hoped there would be a last-minute reprieve. In October, we got the official document saying the program was closing as of December 20th. I don’t think I completely recovered from it.
It was sort of finding out that a dream could be achieved, but it could be taken away just as easily. Two of the squadrons, including mine, sent a wire to the president and offered our services for a dollar a year for as long as the need existed. It was turned down. They said, “No, we’ve made up our mind.
” That was a sad ending. Losing their military flying status forced them back into civilian life. Even with their advanced training and extensive experience, the airlines refused to hire female pilots, offering them jobs as stewardesses or in ground control instead. They found themselves grounded.
We were devastated that we were just let go like that, without even a goodbye or a “you did a good job. ” We had none of the benefits. All the other women in the service got benefits, college, medical, everything. We got absolutely nothing.
If I’d had the GI Bill, it would have changed my whole life. Somebody asked me not too long ago, “You got the Congressional Gold Medal. Which would you prefer, the Gold Medal or the GI Bill? ” I said, “I’ll take the GI Bill every time.
” I stress education to the kids I talk to today. Without education, you’re not going to be anything but a dishwasher for the rest of your life. Now what? What are you going to do with all this wonderful training you’ve been given?
I wrote a lot of letters, and I never heard “no” said in so many different ways. It was understandable, because they had experienced pilots coming back with a lot more time than I did. I soon realized I was going to have to do something on my own. As the country celebrated the end of the war and began to build a new future, the WASP quietly went on with their lives, raising families and enjoying careers.
Their contributions were never officially recognized. They were starting to make aircraft for civilian use, so I went to the distributor of both Cessna and Aeronca and asked, “Can you use my services to bring the aircraft in? ” They said yes. So I gathered a few pilots and started a little ferrying business.
That led to my getting a Cessna dealership. To stay in contact after deactivation, they created an organization called the Order of Fifinella. Originally it helped WASP find jobs and organize reunions, but later it became the nucleus of their political activities to fight for veterans’ recognition. It all started with that first class to graduate and the big headlines that read “first woman to fly military aircraft.
” That upset us a little bit, because we were the first women to fly. We contacted each other: “Did you hear that? ” “What are we going to do about it? ” Some of the papers said, “These were the first women to fly military planes.
” That’s when we said, “Oh, wait a minute,” and we decided to go after our veterans’ status. What about us? We had our own sacrifice. We lost 38.
Are our sacrifices going to be for nothing? That started the drive. I wrote to congressmen, to congressmen in other states, to just about everybody, as all the WASP were. I learned what politicians do best.
They can say no in the politest ways. We didn’t want the glory. We didn’t want any of the publication. We wanted our government to recognize the fact that we did our bit in a time when the country was at war, when they asked for our help and we gave it willingly.
That’s all we wanted. In 1972, a small group of WASP who were getting ready to retire from both the Air Force Reserve and Civil Service realized that their time in the WASP, those two years, didn’t count towards their retirement. They worked to get a bill introduced in Congress to give them recognition for their wartime service, but that bill was quickly killed when neither the Army nor the Air Force would accept jurisdiction over the women. It became clear the WASP would need a long fight.
In 1975, I was elected president of the WASP organization. General Arnold’s son, Colonel Bruce Arnold, had come to one of our reunions and said, “I’m a lobbyist in Washington, D. C. , and I will help you get recognition as veterans of World War II, fulfilling my father’s dream.
” This all started in 1975, and without his knowledge and ability to contact people in Washington, one of whom was Barry Goldwater, I don’t think we would have gotten the recognition. In March of 1975, a bill to recognize WASP as veterans was introduced to the Senate Veterans Affairs Committee by Senator Barry Goldwater, but committee chairman Senator Vance Hartke would not allow the bill a hearing. When an identical bill was introduced to the House Veterans Affairs Committee, their chairman, Ray Roberts, also killed it. The WASP realized the only way to convince Congress was to prove they were military.
They orchestrated a dynamic grassroots effort, forming a militarization committee to compile documentation proving they were veterans. Dora Dougherty Strother listed WASP accomplishments. Bird Howell Granger gathered proof the WASP had been treated as military personnel. Doris Tanner compared WASP training and compensation with that of male cadets and officers.
The documentation was provided to WASP, who presented it to their state representatives. We called on representatives and senators, and all the women senators were great. Barry Goldwater, who had flown with WASP, testified for us. His role cannot be overstated.
He was the father of modern conservatism, the anti-ERA senator, and he was so determined to get the WASPs this recognition based on his personal experience flying with them. He called in all sorts of personal and political favors and even placed an amendment on every Senate bill to get this thing passed. To sway public opinion, the WASP talked to reporters about their military flying experiences. One of the great reasons they were able to get publicity was that the Air Force and Navy were coming out saying, “Look at all these young women pilots we’re going to have flying military airplanes for the first time ever.
” The WASP called the same reporters and said, “No, look. Here we are. We did it. We did it during the war.
Don’t forget us. ”
One of the most interesting stories featured the B-29 Superfortress. After test pilots were killed flying the prototype, most male pilots refused to fly it. It was considered so dangerous that it became known as the Widowmaker.
General Hap Arnold ordered Paul Tibbets, who eventually piloted the B-29 that dropped the bomb on Hiroshima, to train several WASP to fly it. They flew it around to combat bases where male pilots returning from Europe were stationed. After watching the women fly the military’s largest bomber, the men stopped complaining. The WASP also coordinated an innovative petition drive.
Dorothy Davis acquired 1,700 signatures by wearing a WASP uniform to a theater showing Star Wars, setting up a table with pictures and a poster that read, “Please sign petition for veteran status for the Women Air Force Service Pilots. ” In total, the WASP gathered some 22,000 signatures across the country. Their lobbying began to show signs of success. On March 15, 1977, the 95th Congress had a historic first when bill HR 5087, to recognize the WASP as veterans, was introduced in the House.
Congresswomen Lindy Boggs and Margaret Heckler led the fight. It was the first time every female representative in Congress joined together to co-sponsor a bill. But getting the bill passed was still a long shot. Colonel Arnold knew they had to convince Representative Olin “Tiger” Teague of Texas.
They put together an album, and the first page was a copy of one of the women’s honorable discharges from the US Air Force. It said “Air Force” instead of “Air Corps,” but it was the same thing the speaker of the house had. He looked at it and said, “This is exactly like mine. These women are veterans.
” I don’t think we even needed to go to Congress, because we had these honorable discharges. That’s what changed the minds of all of them. To ensure it would not be vetoed, Barry Goldwater made the WASP legislation a rider to a veterans education bill he knew would be passed. Hundreds of WASP came to Washington in their uniforms to witness the vote.
On November 3rd and 4th, 1977, the House and then the Senate passed the legislation. And on November 23rd, without a single WASP present, President Jimmy Carter signed it into law. With our lobbying, we did in 1977 what they had done to us in 1944. We were very successful, finally recognized as veterans of World War II.
It didn’t make much difference then except that it was gratifying. It would have meant a lot more had we gotten it when we were still in the WASP. It took another 33 years before the WASP were officially recognized for their outstanding service during the Second World War. On July 1, 2009, President Barack Obama signed Bill S.
614 authorizing the WASP to receive the Congressional Gold Medal, the highest honor Congress can award to a civilian or a group of civilians. On March 10, 2010, almost 70 years after they served, they were finally officially honored by Congress. WASP Deanie Parrish accepted the Congressional Gold Medal on behalf of the WASP. All we ever asked for was that our overlooked history would someday no longer be a missing chapter in the history of World War II, in the history of the Air Force, in the history of aviation, and most especially in the history of America.
We did it for the love of flying. We all felt it was such an exciting opportunity to fly all these beautiful military planes we never had any idea we’d ever have a chance to fly. It was a wonderful experience, and I can’t imagine my life without it. What would my life have been?
Boring. I think women who heard about what we had done got the courage to start flying themselves. I would do it again and again and again.
I loved it, every minute of it.
