Lady flyer, p.38
Lady Flyer, page 38
—Letter to Nancy Love from William H. Tunner, Brigadier General, USA, Commanding
April–November 1944—Orlando, Florida
After Nancy said goodbye to Bob again, she headed to the Officer Training School in Orlando, Florida, on April 19—something Jackie Cochran had secured. Tunner had ordered Nancy to take part in the first class that included squadron leaders and other Originals: Gillies, Batson, Donahue, Erickson, Bohn, Miller, Batten, and Scharr. Nancy threw herself into studying the material on Army procedures, military discipline, chemical warfare, and more so she could set the standard and earn top scores.
But the media debates about the WASP bill followed her to Florida.
“You’re going out to dinner with Cochran?” Bob asked over the phone one night, surprise filling his question.
“It’s not just me,” Nancy said. “Gillies and Bohn are coming too. Besides, Cochran flew in to meet the first officer class.”
“Ah, that makes sense. Are you all right with that?”
“I’m managing,” she said. “The others are grumbling a bit loudly, so I’ll have to talk to them before dinner. But that’s low on my list of worries. First, Representative Ramspeck is coming into town for a dinner meeting.”
“Boy, oh, boy. Can I join that dinner?”
“I wish.” Nancy blew out a breath. “He’ll probably grill us on the WASP, you know, casual dinner conversation.”
Her prediction turned out to be accurate.
Their dinner with Representative Ramspeck proved to be a quizzing game, with him asking questions about the WASP.
Nancy, at one point, said, “Have you not read my deposition, sir?”
“There’s never too much information to be had,” he said. “What’s your favorite plane to fly, Mrs. Love?”
She didn’t have to think about it since lately she’d been flying the A-20 and absolutely loved it. “The A-20 is very special,” she said with a smile. “All these ladies are working on transitioning on the bomber here in Orlando.”
Ramspeck’s gaze cut to the other women at the table—Bohn, Batson, Donahue, and Erickson. “Is that right? Tell me about the A-20.”
B.J. cleared her throat. “It’s also known as the Db-7. An attack bomber with twin 1600-horsepower Wright engines.”
Ramspeck took off his glasses and slowly cleaned them with his napkin, then put the glasses back on. “Is she fast?”
Nancy didn’t like his tone, but she loved B.J.’s reply.
“She’s smooth, fast, and has a ceiling of 25,000 feet. What’s not to love?”
Ramspeck sat back in his chair, arms folded. “Sounds expensive.”
Everyone politely laughed, but the undercurrent of tension only rose.
After calling Bob that night, Nancy determined that Ramspeck would say what he would to Congress, and there was nothing Nancy could do about it.
The dinner with Cochran the next night went smoothly, and nothing irritated Nancy about the woman. Nancy wondered if Cochran was playing nice because they were all in a holding pattern, waiting for the WASP bill to go through.
The Ferrying Division currently had 303 pilots, and the rest of the WASP graduates were filling other positions. But more graduates were coming, and they had to be assigned, either to the Ferrying Division or to Training Command. Those who had the most potential and desire were sent to pursuit school. The most in-demand job was ferrying the pursuit planes, such as the P-51, A-20, P-38, and P-61.
By the time Nancy and her ladies finished OTS training, the congressional meeting was fast approaching. On June 5, 1944, the Ramspeck Committee presented their compiled findings to Congress. The committee’s conclusive report was that the WASP Program was unjustifiably expensive and unnecessary. Not only that, but the Committee also recommended that the WASP Program stop recruiting new pilots and that their training be terminated immediately.
No one was happy at the Ferrying Division. For Nancy, it was a blow, and she imagined it was an even bigger blow for Cochran.
Nancy didn’t have time to nurse her wounds, though, because the war news dominated her thoughts. Perhaps the writing was on the wall, and she should have foreseen what was happening, but she and everyone else in the country were riveted to the news about the massive Allied assault into Normandy. On June 6, 1944, tens of thousands of paratroopers dropped out of more than 900 C-47 planes, in addition to 4,000 men arriving on military gliders, carrying supporting weapons and medical teams. And the advance on Nazi forces began.
The Allied forces outnumbered and outpowered the Germans in every way, so now it was only a matter of time before the Allies prevailed.
On June 21, Congress voted down the WASP bill, and militarization was denied.
The even bigger blow came when Tunner called Nancy into his office, where Teague was already seated.
“Close the door, please.” Tunner clipped his words. He sat on the other side of his desk, shoulders stiff, hands steepled atop his desk.
Nancy shut the door and took a seat on the edge of a chair.
“General Arnold informed me that all recruitment and training of additional WASP will cease immediately,” Tunner said. “No new classes will start after July 1, and those who are on their way to Sweetwater for Class 45-1 will be sent back home.”
“What . . . what about . . . ?” She swallowed against her too-tight throat.
“The WASP are still needed,” Tunner said. “You’re not going anywhere.”
But the foreboding had already started in Nancy’s gut.
Every day, the blows kept coming, and all Nancy could do was watch the domino effect. Some hope bloomed when Cochran went to a meeting with General George and several others to plan out the future and submit recommendations for the WASP Program moving forward.
Then Tunner was assigned to command the India-China Division of the Air Transport Command. He’d oversee the supply chain to China across the Himalayas from India—the same route Bob had test flown a year and a half before.
Starting in July, General Robert E. Nowland took over as Ferrying Division commander. Most recently, he’d served as the commanding general of the 28th Flying Training Wing at George Field, Illinois, then as chief of staff of the ATC.
On August 1, Cochran finished her report and submitted it to Arnold, recommending that if the WASP couldn’t be militarized, it should be deactivated. Cochran didn’t want the WASP to become a division of the WAC, no matter what.
“The Ninety-Nines have started an initiative to get Congress to reopen the bill for reconsideration,” Betty told Nancy over the phone. “Another group out of Sweetwater is petitioning as well.”
Nancy wanted to feel encouraged, but the growing weight on her heart told her otherwise. She didn’t have Bob to vent to since he’d left on a three-week assignment to South America for the ATC. With the bill being shut down, it felt like the women’s pilot industry was moving backward.
“We’re in the process of moving 123 women pilots out of the Ferrying Division,” Nancy said. “Our momentum to get the WASP militarized is changing with the war successes. We’re still ferrying bombers to be transferred overseas, but we’re also ferrying the returned planes to the boneyard so they can be dismantled or repurposed.”
“Are the rumors true that no more combat pilots will be trained?” Betty asked.
“That’s what I’ve been hearing. Everyone wants the war over—no one more than me and you, I’m sure.” Nancy absently twisted the phone receiver cord around her finger. “The men are starting to come home, but the returning pilots are demanding jobs on American soil.”
“Of course they are,” Betty said. “They should have jobs, but there should be room for both.”
“Agreed.”
Soon after the Allied troops retook Paris, the ripple effect meant that the WASP Program was further disabled. The rumors became true as civilian male pilots in the US were no longer being trained for combat and were instead transitioned to ferrying, replacing the women. The four-week WASP Training Program at the AAF School of Applied Tactics in Orlando was shut down in September.
And on October 3, Arnold made an announcement that rocked Nancy and her pilots to the core. The WASP would be officially disbanded on December 20, 1944.
Nancy spent the next couple of days in a numb daze, wondering if her heart was even still beating. She went about her duties as efficiently as possible only to return to her Cincinnati apartment alone. It was hard to push away the dejection during the dark hours of night. Bob kept telling her he was concerned about her, but she kept telling him she was fine.
Another blow came on November 25, when Hazel Ying Lee crashed her P-63 because the control tower in Great Falls, Montana, gave her mixed landing signals. Lee was only thirty-two years old. And like the other WASPs who’d been lost, Lee did not qualify for the honors of a military funeral. Her death was another devastating loss to the WASP community.
A small bright spot came when Bob lobbied for reassignment to Cincinnati and became the deputy commander of the Ferrying Division. It was a gallant thing to do, and Nancy didn’t even know how much she needed him until he was there.
Her nights were no longer long and lonely. She curled next to Bob as the moon glowed through the window.
“It’s both wonderful and terrifying,” she murmured, happy to have her husband back, her cheek pressed against his chest. “The changing tide of the war seems too good to be true, yet all signs indicate a definitive Allied victory.”
“There’s still a long way to go,” Bob said as his fingers trailed along her arm. “But you’re right. Just like General Arnold pointed out, unless there are major combat losses in the air raid over Germany, pilots will continue returning home. And they’ll be given the jobs the WASP are currently doing.”
“I understand,” Nancy said, “but it’s surreal. We’re being told that if the WASP continue, we’ll be replacing men instead of releasing them. On that account, it softens the blow, but I still want to serve our country. General Arnold is basically giving us a couple of months’ buffer so the men can get transitioned and qualified. He wants the WASP returning home by Christmas.” She let her shoulders sag. “It’s a nice thought—home for Christmas.”
“It is a very nice thought.” Bob’s arm tightened around her.
“Then, why do I feel so positively bleak and like my feet are being pulled underwater? The war changing tides is what we have all been praying for, but until Germany and Japan surrender, the WASP can continue serving our country.”
“What has Nowland said?” Bob’s voice rumbled softly above her.
“He sent a letter of appeal to General Arnold, saying that it would cost more money to replace the WASP pilots and that he wants the women to be retained until the men can be fully trained. Then we’d be let go over a period of time.”
“Ah, need I guess General Arnold’s reply?”
“It was swift and stern, as usual,” Nancy said, biting back her disappointment. “Nowland was informed that contrasting the reduced costs of keeping the program is not on the table for debate right now. The WASP are being disbanded because of a policy decision that benefits the AAF. End of case, and no exceptions will be made. So, I’ll be out of a job come December 20.”
Bob’s hand rested on her shoulder and squeezed. “Through it all, sweetie, you must see how much you and your ladies have achieved. You’ve ferried planes to where they need to be, making crucial deliveries under all kinds of conditions and restrictions. And you’ve single-handedly proven that women can fly larger planes successfully.”
Nancy moved up on her elbow and looked down at him in the dim light. “I’ve done nothing single-handedly. You, Bob, are a major reason I’ve come this far and, consequently, the other WASP.”
His fingers brushed the ends of her hair. “Thanks for the endorsement, but we both know you were a spitfire before I even met you.”
She smiled and nestled against his warm skin. “Well, I had great parents and a daredevil brother who might have encouraged me a little too much.”
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through her.
“I might go to the final graduation on December 7,” she said after another moment. The WASP Class 44-10 would be the last to graduate from Avenger Field, and then it would be over. Done.
“I think you should attend,” Bob said, encouragement in his voice. “I’m impressed those ladies are sticking it out even with the program being disbanded.”
“They’ll still be qualified pilots, but they’ll have to make their own way without the WASP net.”
“True, and attending will give you some closure.”
“Maybe.” Nancy wasn’t quite sure if she wanted to be part of the graduation where she was certain that Arnold would offer platitudes that would probably never come to fruition. Yet she’d been part of the WASP from the beginning, so maybe . . . Would she be able to sit through the ceremony while her heart shattered?
Chapter Forty-Two
“You, and more than nine hundred of your sisters, have shown that you can fly wingtip to wingtip with your brothers. . . . The entire operation has been a success. It is on record that women can fly as well as men. We will not again look upon a women’s flying organization as experimental. We will know that they can handle our fastest fighters, our heaviest bombers; we will know that they are capable of ferrying target towing, flying training, test flying and the countless other activities which you have proved you can do. This is valuable knowledge for the air age into which we are now entering. . . . We will never forget our debt to you.”
—General Arnold, December 7, 1944, graduation speech to the WASP Class 44-10
December 1944—Cincinnati, Ohio
From her Cincinnati office, Nancy read a transcript of the speech General Arnold gave at the WASP Class 44-10 graduation. The speech turned out to be very pretty indeed, but Nancy had decided not to attend. Maybe she should feel guilty for not being part of the graduation, but in the end, she wasn’t interested in being inundated with questions about the demise of the WASP. Only time would tell if Arnold’s words of “we will never forget our debt to you” would prove to be true. Would the world truly remember the WASP?
When she spoke on the phone to B.J., Nancy found herself cheering up her friend, even though she felt the same despondency.
“There’s no reason room can’t be made for women pilots in the military,” B.J. said. “How many planes do we need to fly, and how many hours do we need to accumulate in order to prove ourselves?”
“I agree,” Nancy conceded. “But it would be a constant fight if politics can disband the WASP. That tells me the rest of the country isn’t ready for women in the Air Force.”
B.J. made a low noise in her throat. “I hate this. What are you going to do now? What can any of us do?”
Of course, this had been on Nancy’s mind continually. “I’m going to keep praying that this war ends as soon as possible. I’ve been working on finding jobs for some of the ferrying pilots. Mr. Traylor from the Reconstruction Finance Corporation is in need of pilots to fly surplus warplanes to sales centers. Bob and I were talking about settling in San Francisco. We’ll see what happens, but we’re planning on selling the house in Massachusetts.” She paused. “Maybe we’ll have babies.”
B.J. laughed. “I think there’s going to be quite the baby boom.”
Nancy smiled to herself. “Likely.”
“I’m also trying to imagine what sort of kid you and Bob Love will produce,” B.J. said with humor laced through her words. “The combination is going to be quite spectacular.”
“Right back at you. How’s your engagement going with Jack London?”
“Very well.”
They both laughed.
“I’m going to miss you, Nancy,” B.J. said quieter. “Oh, I know we’ll keep in contact and all that, but it won’t be the same.”
“No.” Nancy paused at the thought. “Not the same at all.”
Her later conversation with Betty was much the same.
“Are you sincere about having children?” Betty asked, never afraid to ask delicate questions.
“Of course. My mother will be thrilled.”
“Uh, I can’t see your expression,” Betty said. “This isn’t about giving your mother grandbabies. It’s about what you want.”
Nancy coiled the phone cord around a finger. “I want children, I do. Bob does too—or at least, that’s what he says, but we haven’t talked much about it since Pearl Harbor.” She hesitated. “I think something’s wrong with me, and I need to see if I can even have children. We’ve been married for ten years and nothing. So I’m making a doctor appointment.”
“Good, I’m glad you’re doing that,” Betty said. “Whatever happens is what’s meant to be.”
“You sound like Bob,” Nancy said lightly. “Otherwise, Bob keeps talking about buying a sailboat once we find a place to settle. I guess we’re living by water somewhere.”
“It’s about time,” Betty said warmly.
“We’ll have to wait until this blasted war has truly ended.” Over the past few months, Finland and the Soviet Union had agreed to a ceasefire; the Allies had liberated Athens, which was currently under martial law; the Germans had surrendered Aachen, Germany; and the French had captured Strasbourg.
“What do you think about the Order of the Fifinella?” Betty asked. “Are you going to join?”
“I’m not,” Nancy said, then quickly amended, “but don’t feel obligated to follow my lead. The organization is a good thing. I . . . I just can’t be a part of it right now.” The Fifinella mascot had come from Walt Disney’s design of a winsome lady gremlin mascot, and the organization would be a way for the WASP to stay in contact both professionally and personally. But how could she explain to Betty that she felt like she couldn’t muster the energy or enthusiasm to join?
