Tuskegee, Alabama
March 12, 1943
The shell-shocked pilot stumbles over his words as he answers Eleanor’s question. “M-Mrs. Roosevelt, I can think of no greater honor.”
Eleanor smiles at the group and then turns to the press. “Then it’s settled.”
Finally, she faces me, her voice quieter. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a flight as well? Imagine what a glorious message that would send to the world.”
“Oh, how I wish I could. But you know these old lungs can’t handle the altitude,” I say. “At least, not on a plane like that.”
Eleanor knows this. It’s the reason we took the train to Alabama. Even then, I wasn’t able to control my coughing fits. Eleanor has seen me struggle with breathing and even walking. For the first time in my life, my cane is no longer for show alone. So she understands. But I understand her question as well. Not only would this be quite a flight, but imagine what a photograph us on that plane would make.
After giving me a nod of appreciation, Eleanor turns to Chief Flight Instructor Anderson. “All righty, then, it looks like it’ll be just you and me up there.”
“Yes, Mrs. Roosevelt,” the chief flight instructor says, his tone filled with wonder.
Eleanor asks him, “Do you mind if the press gets a picture of the two of us in the plane after we suit up for the flight?”
“Of course not,” he exclaims.
I watch as a gaggle of instructors descend to prepare Eleanor. The air is suddenly charged with motion and purpose. The crew layers on a tanker jacket and coveralls over her sensible skirt, and then a helmet and goggles on her head. And I wonder: Can I go up there? Imagine what we could demonstrate to the world about our partnership and humanity and equality and our friendship. We’d be showing—not telling—the world that we are sisters.
My thought is only fleeting. I’m having enough trouble breathing with my feet firmly on the ground. I’d ruin everything if I had one of my coughing spells up there. So I stand to the side and watch my friend, beaming with pride as I think about what she’s about to do.
Once she’s outfitted, Eleanor reaches for me, and we walk arm in arm alongside Mr. Anderson. The press follows us, but then, at the edge of the plane, Eleanor holds up her hand, directing everyone to stand a few feet away.
With Mr. Anderson between us, Eleanor whispers, “I think we should tell you the reason Mrs. Bethune and I are here today. We want to help get the Tuskegee pilots where they belong—up in the air and into battle.”
His eyes volley between Eleanor and me. “All this is to advocate for us heading into active duty?” His tone is incredulous.
“Yes,” I say, “and it is our honor to assist you in this struggle.” I give the two a final nod and then back away as they climb into the cockpit.
The reporters rush to the plane, each angling for the perfect shot. From her seat, Eleanor calls out to them, “Afternoon, ladies! Thanks for coming to Tuskegee Institute! I’ll be taking a flight with the immensely talented Chief Flight Instructor Anderson at the helm to prove something once and for all. If it’s safe for the First Lady to fly with a colored pilot, then it is safe for these expertly trained colored pilots to fight in the war. Let’s get these men in the air!”
There are gasps of astonishment as camera bulbs flash, and reporters scratch away on their notepads. Glancing to my left, I cover my mouth with my hand to hide my laughter at the sight of Lieutenant Colonel Thompson, standing with his arms crossed and his face crimson. I remember his words—No white woman has ever flown with a colored pilot before. Well, that is changing today.
As Mr. Anderson brings the engine to life, its roar drowns out all the noise of the airfield. Right as the plane begins to taxi, Eleanor turns to the window, and I grin widely and wave. But then, as the aircraft moves farther away, tears pool in the corners of my eyes. I am overcome with emotion. Yes, I am thankful for the opportunities that will come for these well-trained pilots and others who follow. But the gratitude that fills me is beyond that. In just minutes, I will watch my friend take an unprecedented flight—for both of us.
We have accomplished so much together, but seeing Eleanor’s transformation has been life-changing for me as well. We met when Eleanor was a shy politician’s wife who believed her calling was to empower young girls through education. But she has grown into a woman of the world. She has had serious conversations with heads of state and held court with kings and queens. She has brawled with congressional leaders and has generated a meaningful, honest relationship with millions of Americans who depend on her practical, empathetic advice. She inspires and consoles them, just as she has done for me. Her mission and reach are now global. It has been a joy and an honor to be at her side.
As the JP-3 Piper airplane climbs, I shield my eyes from the sun, and I am overcome with the strangest feeling. It’s as if I’m sitting in that aircraft with Eleanor—I can hear the engine’s rumble; I can feel the vibration of the seat as the plane rises higher and higher. I close my eyes and imagine that Eleanor and I are ascending into the cloudless azure sky—because I know that only together do we soar.