Flying Violets

Chapter 3

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Two months later, I was the owner of my very own 1918 Curtiss Jenny JN-4D airplane.  It was everything to me in those days.  I had sold my family home in Newton, and purchased this airplane with the proceeds.  For me this was ultimate freedom:  having no family obligations anymore and nothing to tie me down.  I was living in a room off of the airport, and would flying the mail in twice a week starting next month.  

My Jenny was a beauty; I had painted her a crisp apple red.   Joe would often tell me that he could spot me a mile away, and he knew it was “Vi” flying back to Newton.   I was learning to roll, loop, and my ultimate goal was the “death dip” where I would fly to 5,000 feet, and turn off the engine.  Then I would dive straight down at the ground, only to pull up at the last second.  Sam was teaching me some of his moves, and I seemed to have a keen knack for many of the stunts.  “You’re a natural Vi up there in  the sky.  It’s almost like you were born with wings instead of as some Boston Priss.”  

 Gilda always got worked up into a state when I started to learn these maneuvers. 

“Violet why would you risk your life for a cheap thrill.”  I heard her utter on more than one occasion.

 She had been shocked when I sold the house in Newton only to buy an airplane. 

“Violet why don’t you get married and settle down.”  or “Violet why did you sell your family home for a piece of wood and fabric.”

The first time she saw my Jenny, she started crying and wringing her hands.  Joe looked over her head and winked.  I think Joe understood me better than anyone else, and what my Jenny represented to me. I loved being busy, and being around people who cared.  Joe and Gilda had taken me into their family and I loved every minute of it. 

Joe was also teaching me airplane mechanics.  He once looked at me after I had bought the Jenny and said, “Violet since you now own your own airplane, you need to know how to take care of her.”  He further said, “Flying is only part of it, you need to know how to maintain your Jenny.”   So in the evenings I helped Joe work on the planes, tweaking engines and topping oil.  I loved every minute of it. 

I still dressed in men’s trousers, my old leather flying jacket, and knee boots.  My hair was bobbed at chin level.  And I never I wore perfume or dresses and frilly stockings.  My goal was to be treated like the boys.  And I was.  I didn’t have any boyfriends.  I didn’t go to dances or on church picnics.  My life was to fly. 

It was on one of my mail runs to Atlanta that I met Jack. 

I was flying at 5,000 feet when I noticed the clouds.  Up until mid-morning the weather had been clear, but now it was turning dark.  I wondered if I could fly around the thunderstorms, and make it to Atlanta for lunch.  I headed south toward Macon and hoped I could beat this weather, but as the minutes raced; the clouds were still heavy and dark.  I decided that I would need to land and wait the weather out.  I knew that Macon had an airport, but wasn’t sure if I could land in time.

Bringing the plane down and banking to the left, I glanced below to see if I could find a field in which to land.  As luck would have it, there was a farm below so I circled twice before finding the right pasture.  It was a smooth landing as I crested over the farmhouse into the waiting pasture.  No cows or farm animals were in my way.  It took a few minutes for the propellers to stop, and as I cut the engine off, it started to pour down rain.  I put my goggles on top of my head and jumped out onto the soft ground.