Louise Thaden’s dream of flying became a reality in 1927 when Walter H. Beech set her on a path to earning her wings and a reputation as one of America’s foremost female flyers.
“I want you to meet Warren, our new Pacific Coast distributor. Warren has agreed to take you out to San Francisco. Your salary won’t be high, but he will teach you this aviation business and see that you learn to fly.” Walter Beech’s words struck a young and vivacious Louise McPhetridge like a thunderclap. She stared in disbelief, first at Beech, and then at Warren. The 21-year-old girl from Bentonville, Arkansas, could hardly believe what she had heard. It took nearly an hour for the two men to convince her that they were serious: Her dream of flying was about to become a reality.1
Warren was visiting the Travel Air Manufacturing Company in Wichita, Kansas, to take delivery of a Model “B” biplane (later redesignated as the Type 2000) for his new distributorship. On April 2, 1927, she and Warren departed Travel Air Field east of the city and headed west. Less than two years later Louise had not only become a competent pilot, but she was placed in charge of D.C. Warren’s satellite office in Oakland. It was a lot of responsibility for a young woman, particularly one who had recently married an aeronautical engineer named Herbert von Thaden.
Louise was anxious to make her mark in aviation, and one of the best ways to do that was to set a record for female pilots. In 1928 she had a lot of competition: Ruth Nichols, Viola Gentry, Bobbi Trout, Elinor Smith, Amelia Earhart and Florence “Pancho” Barnes, just to name a few. By that time the number of women aviators was growing, but the “records” they were setting for altitude, speed and endurance were not officially sanctioned or recognized by the Federation Aeronautique International (FAI) until December 3, 1928, when Gentry attempted to break the existing record for endurance held by male pilots (60 hours). Although she was forced to land because of bad weather, Viola had managed to stay in the air over Long Island, New York, for slightly more than eight hours.
Two weeks later Bobbi Trout broke Gentry’s record, and three weeks after that Elinor Smith set a new mark of 13 hours, 16 minutes. Women were increasingly setting and breaking each other’s records at what seemed like a breakneck pace. As more women began to fly and obtain state-of-the-art airplanes equal to those flown by their male counterparts, records tumbled in quick succession. Ruth Nichols, herself a widely recognized flyer known for her skill at the stick, commented; “More girls should get good ships and keep setting new marks. It has long been my theory that if women could set records often duplicating the men’s, the general public would have more confidence in aviation.”2
Louise was quick to realize that setting records was her ticket to advancing her career in aviation. She began planning an endurance flight of her own, choosing one of Warren’s Travel Air Type 3000 biplanes powered by a high compression, 180-horsepower Wright/Hispano-Suiza V-8 engine. Louise worked hard with the mechanics to prepare the ship for the challenge that lay ahead. The engine was tuned to perfection, fuel and oil tanks were closely inspected for any sign of cracks or leaks, and the airplane’s rigging was checked and rechecked. Finally, the Travel Air was deemed ready.
Louise took off from Oakland and remained aloft for 22 hours, 3 minutes – a record! Unfortunately for Louise, her mark stood for only 30 days before 17-year-old Smith grabbed it back with a time of 26 hours, 21 minutes. Undaunted, Thaden set her sights on beating the existing women’s unofficial record for altitude, and to be successful she would have to officially exceed 20,000 feet. A barograph, sealed by a representative of the FAI, was installed in the fuselage to record the maximum altitude achieved by Louise. In addition, a makeshift breathing system consisting of a hospital mask and an unheated cylinder of oxygen, would help her to remain conscious and alert during the flight.
Clothed in a thick winter flying suit and helmet, Louise took off on December 7, 1928, and began a slow, deliberate climb upward into rarified air. By the time she had reached 15,000 feet the outside air temperature (OAT) had plummeted to zero. It was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe and Louise was feeling tired. Without hesitation she wisely donned her improvised mask and opened the valve of the oxygen cylinder with a pair of pliers borrowed from a mechanic. The flow of nearly pure oxygen revived her senses, and as the Type 3000 passed through 20,000 feet Louise opened the valve further. At that altitude it was about 16 degrees below zero, and she was flying in an open cockpit. Cold, wet moisture began to collect inside the mask and clung to her chin, but she continued to climb, struggling to hold the best climb airspeed in an effort to eke out every last shred of lift from the wings.
One hour after takeoff one of two altimeters indicated 27,000 feet, the other 29,000 feet! The OAT had dropped to 24 degrees below zero. Thaden peered over the cockpit combing and looked down on Oakland, which had slowly shrunk to little more than a mere speck far below. Louise knew that altimeters were often notoriously inaccurate, particularly at those heights, and she gave little credence to its display. What the altimeter indicated made no difference, however, as the Travel Air had become rebellious. The ship stubbornly refused to climb another inch as it hung on the verge of a stall, quivering and shuddering in the frigid air. The engine was gasping for breath, its power spent. Worst of all, however, Louise had failed to detect that she was gradually losing consciousness. The loud ringing in her ears went unnoticed. She slowly slumped in the cockpit.
The next thing she knew the airplane was hurtling earthward in wide circles at high speed, its Hispano-Suiza powerplant screaming in protest. Fortunately, oxygen-rich air at the lower altitudes had succeeded in reviving her. She quickly regained control and continued a slow descent back to the airport, where she landed without incident. When the barograph was removed and the tracing analyzed by the FAI official, he declared that Thaden had set a record – the first official altitude record for women pilots, of 20,260 feet. It stood for five months before Marvel Crosson shattered that mark by reaching an official height of 24,000 feet.3
In addition to briefly holding the altitude record for women pilots, in 1929 Thaden set a speed record flying a Travel Air Type 3000. The biplane was equipped with the new “speed wings” developed by engineers at the factory in Wichita that not only featured a different airfoil section that reduced drag, but allowed a modest increase in maximum and cruise speeds. When the freight truck arrived at the Oakland office the wings were carefully unloaded and slowly unpacked from their crates. Not long after the wings arrived so did a letter from Walter H. Beech. It was addressed to Louise: “We believe the wings to be sufficiently strong, but since they are a new development, we do not want you to take any unnecessary risks or chances.”4
Although the wings had been shipped to Thaden for the specific purpose of setting a speed record, as preparations for the attempt began Walter wrote more letters to Louise, all of them continuing to “urge care and caution.” Soon the wings were installed and the ship rigged according to engineering directives. It was time to “take her up and see what she could do.” As Thaden recalled, “It was fast, the fastest commercial airplane on the West Coast. Pilots whom I had heretofore envied now envied me. They stood in admiring groups about the sleek-looking ship, extolling her streamlined cleanness, all but drooling at the mouth to fly her. My popularity zoomed to a new high. It was very gratifying to my vanity.”5
Louise chose the smooth air of the early evening to execute her attempt. Officials recording the flight reminded her that she was to fly a total of four passes, two in each direction, across a measured mile course that had been laid out on the Oakland airfield. A large crowd had gathered to witness the event, and Louise could only hope that she would not make a mistake.
The Travel Air’s Hispano-Suiza engine roared as Thaden put the biplane into a dive. She slowly leveled off at 300 feet as the ship flashed by the course marker at the west end of the field. Louise played the controls with as much precision as she could muster, trying hard to keep the airplane in level flight. In a matter of seconds the finish marker at the east end of the airport was behind her. She pulled up, rolled the Travel Air into a tight 180-degree turn and completed a second pass in the opposite direction. The buildings and people rushed by in a blur. “I was exalted with speed, with swift, powerful, unobstructed flight, cutting the air with knife-edge ease. Mastery, accomplishment, freedom, ego; verve, vitality; I was ready to burst with the joy of being so thoroughly alive—for the ability to fly.”6
Thaden made two more passes over the course and landed, hoping she had set a record that would be difficult for her female contemporaries to beat. When Louise walked into the office where officials were busy calculating time and speed, they announced that she had set a record of 156 mph. Privately, Thaden was disappointed, but she consoled herself by realizing that she had flown faster than any woman in the world up to that time. In addition, she had held not only the speed record but also the records for endurance and altitude.
Thaden achieved another goal in the summer of 1929 when she obtained her Transport License, which required a total flying time of 200 hours and specific cross-country experience. At that time she was one of only four female pilots that had achieved that high level of skill and knowledge. She would soon put that skill to work, but only if she could convince Walter Beech to build her an airplane for the upcoming Women’s Air Derby. The Derby was planned as a precursor to the 1929 National Air Races and would be flown from Santa Monica, California, to the site of the races in Cleveland, Ohio.
It was the first competition of its kind in the United States, and the press soon dubbed it the “Powder Puff Derby.” The race would begin on August 19 and end one week later in Ohio, 2,800 miles away from California. The winner would take home the tidy sum of $2,500. Louise was among 18 pilots that qualified for the event, along with the likes of Amelia Earhart, Mary von Mach, Gladys O’Donnell, the flamboyant “Pancho” Barnes, Ruth Elder and the highly respected German aviatrix, Thea Rasche. Thaden knew that each of these women had the ability to win, and they would be flying airplanes fully capable of making the long, arduous journey.
Meanwhile, back in Wichita, Walter Beech finally relented and despite an already overburdened order book for other customers, agreed to build not only one Travel Air for the race, but five. All would be fitted with speed wings and powered by Wright Aeronautical static, air-cooled radial engines ranging from 225-300 horsepower. In addition to Louise, Marvel Crosson, “Pancho” Barnes, Blanch Noyes and Mary von Mach received new ships ready for the race. The Derby got off to a good start, but the press was quick to malign the race and the women who were flying with all their skill and grit to win it. One newspaper exclaimed, “Women have conclusively proven they cannot fly,” while another paper proclaimed that women “have been dependent on man for guidance for so long that when they are put on their own resources, they are handicapped.” Despite the malicious and unfounded accusations hurled by irresponsible editors and reporters, the women flew on, even after the death of Marvel Crosson whose Travel Air crashed in the desert near Phoenix, Arizona.
As one day led to the next, the strain on all of the contestants was beginning to take its toll. That was the hardest aspect of the race – to keep going despite one obstacle after another that had to be overcome, including bad weather, inaccurate road maps, high, gusty winds, bad fuel, blowing sand, and fatigue. The Travel Air team was no exception and experienced more than their share of troubles. “Pancho” Barnes “cracked up” her Travel Air when it struck a stray Chevrolet that had wandered onto the active runway in Pecos, Texas, and Blanche Noyes was out of the running after she received serious burns when her ship caught fire in flight and was damaged in a forced landing.
It was anybody’s guess as to who would cross the finish line first at Cleveland, but Louise managed to keep her Travel Air from serious harm and captured the $2,500 reward for her efforts. Thaden summed up her hard-earned victory this way: “The indisputable fact that I was first into Cleveland, winner of the Derby, could not penetrate. Before the ship rolled to a stop a crowd swarmed around us. Alarmed, I cut the [magneto] switches. Sunburned mechanics grinned…picking the Travel Air and me up bodily, they carried us over in front of the grandstands.” Louise had barely left the cockpit when she was thrust into the public spotlight and asked to address the throngs of spectators in the bleachers. Speechless, she just stood there silently. Suddenly an impatient official poked her in the side and told her to say something. Struggling to find the words, she finally blurted out, “I’m glad to be here. All the girls flew a splendid race, much better than I. Each one deserves first place because each one is a winner!”7
For Louise, the glory and notoriety of the Women’s Air Derby quickly faded away. All the women resumed their daily lives. Some went on to great fame. Some did not. One disappeared over the vast Pacific Ocean. Louise Thaden, however, was destined to earn even greater notoriety in 1936 flying an airplane that bore Walter Beech’s name, but that, as they say, is another story.
NOTES
- Thaden, Louise; “High, Wide and Frightened,” Air Facts Press, New York, New York; 1973.
- Holden, Henry M., and Griffith, Captain Lori; “Ladybirds—The Untold Story of Women Pilots in America;” Black Hawk Publishing Company, Mt. Freedom, N.J.; third printing, December, 1993.
- Ibid.
- Ibid
- Ibid
- Ibid
- Ibid