AMELIA EARHART:

AMELIA EARHART: The Sky’s No Limit, by Lori Van Pelt. TOR Forge (www.tor-forge.com), 2005, 2009, 240 pp., $12.99. ISBN 978-0-7653-2483-2

Is it a coincidence that Amelia Earhart’s last name sounds like “air”? Like a woman whose “heart” and soul lived for being up in the air? I don’t think so. There are no coincidences.

Today, airline travel is a hassle, to say the least. Perhaps we would have liked it better in Amelia Earhart’s day. No pat-downs, no ticketing, no lines, no getting to the airport two hours in advance. Just a great sense of adventure, the thrill of the unknown, of doing things no one had ever done before. For the most part, the only “terror” was in the flight itself, not with some lunatic trying to take us all out.

AMELIA EARHART, THE SKY’S NO LIMIT is a good read on her life and the airline industry in its early days. It is one of the books in the American Heroes Series. These books are very cool. I read and reviewed an equally excellent one on George Washington in a past TRUE REVIEW. Relatively short, they give you an in-depth yet not overwhelming account of the lives of some of America’s greatest citizens. As the book states, all the people selected for the American Heroes series have one thing in common: They transcend barriers of all kinds to become heroes. Author Lori Van Pelt does a fine job of describing the highs and lows and the joys and sorrows of Amelia’s life on the road to becoming that hero.

While her disappearance over the Pacific is a mystery, perhaps the biggest mystery of all is her relationship with her husband, PR man George “G.P.” Putnam. One gets no true sense of their relationship. Often it seems like more of a business relationship as Putman spins his PR magic to boost his wife’s exposure and their financial assets through exclusive interviews and clothing and luggage lines. In that respect, G.P. was a man way ahead of his time.

Amelia held a variety of honorary and business positions in her all-too-short lifetime. A collection donated by her husband G.P. on her life and work is housed at Purdue University, perhaps chosen because she was a consultant there in the Department of Careers for Women. She was also aviation editor for Cosmopolitan Magazine. Could this be the same publication we now see at the supermarket, most often behind a discreet panel because of the half-naked woman on the cover and the articles telling you how to soar in an entirely different manner? Please, say it isn’t so.

Stories relating the challenges that heroes such as Amelia faced tend to put things in perspective. While flying today is no picnic, how many of us would tolerate the following conditions that Amelia was exposed to:

• Stifling hot and freezing cold cockpit temperatures
• Wearing an inflatable vest over our clothing
• Sore, bloodshot eyes caused by the streaming air
• Carrying a hatchet and knife to cut through the fuselage and retrieve the life raft stored behind the gas tanks in the event you had to ditch the plane
• Makeshift and often downright dangerous runways
• Co-pilots who get drunk
• Battling nausea, diarrhea, exhaustion, and airsickness from gasoline fumes concentrated in the cockpit
• Throwing supplies and personal possessions off the plane to make way for needed gasoline supplies and to allow for air lift.

I only ever had one flying experience that could come close to the thrill Amelia no doubt felt every time she climbed in the cockpit. In 1979, I had the opportunity to complete a life-long dream AND fly on the Concord. For the record, I wasn’t rich or famous, just darn lucky. But then again, there are no coincidences.

I’m a lifelong Bee Gees fan. In the late ‘60s, they were scheduled to play a few hours from my home. I wanted to see them so badly but my father had no time or interest in taking me there. I made a vow that if I ever had the chance to see them, I was going, come heck or high water.

Fast forward to 1979, post “Saturday-Night-Fever” Era, when my cousin called from Dallas, Texas and casually mentioned that the Bee Gees would be in concert there that summer.

As my husband routinely says, when a Jackson chick (my maiden name) wants to do something, get the heck out of the way! In true Amelia Earhart fashion, I jumped at the chance and wired $200 for two tickets (big money back then) to my cousin so he could purchase concert tickets through scalpers. I told my boss at the bank that I had to go and if, for any reason I couldn’t, I would resign. I meant every word. (Of course, those were the days when jobs were in great supply!) Ironically, I was working in the wire transfer department of a big bank at the time. But there are no coincidences.

So off we go into the wild blue wonder, my sister in tow for company, hurling toward Dallas, all the while hoping my concert tickets were actually legit (they were!). We flew the now-defunct Braniff Airlines. The flight was very bumpy and my sister very nervous. The gentleman sitting in the seat next to us must have felt bad for her. He told us that Braniff had the rights to fly the British Airways Concord in the U.S. If we took it home, the flight would be about an hour shorter. I have no idea who that man was, but I shall forever be indebted to him!

Our 727 couldn’t land fast enough! I flew off, literally skidded to the Braniff counter and asked about the program. Lo’ and behold, we found out we could fly home on the Concord for only . . .drum roll, please . . . $40 more a ticket! The deal of the century! Probably what a ticket cost in Amelia’s day.

The Concord was the adventure of a lifetime. When you landed and took off, you barely taxied. It was like the Space Shuttle landing on a dime. You were so far up that there was no turbulence. They sky was pink and purple. You got roses and champagne on your meal tray. And we cut an hour off our flying time from Dallas to Dulles Airport in Washington, D.C. (And that wasn’t even at full throttle, which was reserved for transatlantic travel.) Amelia would have been in seventh heaven. I sure was.

Amelia’s in-flight meal, which she ate in stuffy, cramped quarters, probably while steering the plane with one hand, was often self-prepared, consisting of hard-boiled eggs, chicken sandwiches, cans of tomato juice, and a thermos of hot chocolate. In the ‘60s and ‘70s, airlines wooed you with fine dining. Today, I suspect you might be able to get a can of tomato juice. For the most part though, we’re back to packing our own, lest we have to jump up and down like monkeys trying to catch the peanuts and bottled water meal tossed to you by a flight attendant-cum-zoo-keeper.

The adventure is gone. The good food is gone. The Concord is gone. Amelia is gone.

While she’s not coming back, perhaps in her spirit and honor, someone will take up the challenge to bring the Concord or something like it back. And maybe all the other great aspects of flying, too.

Because today, we all could use a great adventure and a good meal . . .and some new worlds to conquer.

It’s no coincidence Amelia is considered an American hero. Thanks Amelia. R.I.P.