Browning chief. [volume] (Browning, Mont.) 1941-1953, 1943-07-16
Woman Pilot
BY CorItelia Fort
(WNU Feature-Through special arrangement
with Won1an's Home Companion.)

(Here is one Of the most remarkable
articles ever pubhshed-a personal story
In American history. Shortly after il was
written. Miss Fort. 20. of Nashville. Tenn.
was killed when the bomber she was pilot
ing crashed in Texas.)
I knew I was going to join the
Woman's Auxiliary Ferrying squad
ron before the organization was a
reality, before it had name, before
it was anything but a radical idea
In the minds of a few men who be-
lieved that women could fly air.
planes. But never knew it so surely
as did in Honolulu on December 7,
1941.
At dawn that morning I drove
from Waikiki to the John Rodgers
civilian airport right next to Pearl
Harbor, where was civilian pilot
instructor. Shortly after $50 I be-
gan landing and take-off practice
with my regular student.
Coming in just before the last land
ing, I looked casually around and
saw military plane coming direct
ly toward me. jerked the controls
away from my student and damned
the throttle wide open to pull above
the oncoming plane. He passed so
close under us that our celluloid win
dows ratified violently and 1 looked
down to see what kind of plane it
was.
The painted red balls on the
tops of the wings shone brightly
in the sun. looked again with
complete and utter disbelief.
Honolulu was familiar with the
emblem of the Rising Sun on
passenger ships, but not on air
planes.
looked quickly at Pearl Har-
Dor and my spine tingled when
saw billowing black smoke. Still
thought holloway it might be
maneuvers. 1t might be, it must
be. For sure, dear God!
Then I looked way up and saw the
formations of silver bombers riding
in. Something detached itself from
an airplane and came glistening
down. My eyes followed it down,
down, and even with the knowledge
pounding in my mind, my heart
turned convulsively when the bomb
exploded in the middle of the harbor.
I knew the air was not the place
for my little baby airplane and set
about landing as quickly as ever I
could. A few seconds later a shadow
passed over me and simultaneous
ly bullets spattered all around me.
Suddenly that little wedge of sky
above Hickam Field and Pearl Har-
Dor was the busiest, fullest piece Of
sky I ever saw.
We counted anxiously as our little
civilian planes came flying home to
roost. Two never came back. They
were washed ashore weeks later on
the windward side of the island, bull
let-riddled. Not a pretty way for the
brave little yellow Cubs and their
pilots to 60 down to death.
When 1 returned, the only way
could fly at all was to instruct Civil
ian Pilot training programs. Weeks
passed. Then, out of the blue, came
ment announcing the organization of
the WAFS, and the order to re-
port within "a hours if interested.
left at once.
Because there were and are so
many disbelievers in women pilots,
especially in their place in the army,
officials wanted the best possible
qualifications to 60 with the first ex-
detrimental group. All of us realized
what spot we were on. We had
to deliver the goods or else. Or else
there wouldn't ever be another
chance for women pilots in any part
of the service.
The attitude that most nonfliers
have about pilots is distressing and
often acutely embarrassing. They
chatter about the glamour of flying.
Well, any pilot can tell you how
glamorous it is. We get up in the
cold dark in order to get to the air
port by daylight. We wear heavy
cumbersome flying clothes and 30
pound parachute.
You are either too cold or too hot.
If you are female your lipstick
wears off, and your hair gets
straighter and straighter. You look
forward all afternoon to the bath
you will have, and the steak, Well,
we get the bath, but seldom the
steak: sometimes we are too tired
to eat and fall YEARLY into bed.
None of us can put into words
why we fly. 1t is something diff
ferent for each of us. l can't
say exactly why fly, but
"know" why as I've never known
anything in my life. OF this l am
most positive.
l knew it when I saw my plane
silhouetted against the clouds,
framed by a circular rainbow. I
knew it when flew up into the ex-
tinct volcano Haleakala on the island
of Maui, and saw the gray-green
pineapple fields slope down to the
cloud dappled blueness of the
Pacific.