“General Olds has informed me that he is planning on hiring women pilots for his Ferrying Command almost at once. His plan, as outlined to me, is not only bad in my opinion from the organizational standpoint, and contrary to what you told me yesterday but is in direct conflict, in fact, with the plans of a women’s unit for England. In addition, it would wash me out of the supervision of the women flyers here rather than the contrary as we contemplated.”
—Letter from Jacqueline Cochran to Hap Arnold, January 18, 1942
March–May 1942—Baltimore, Maryland
Nancy had been surprised to receive a phone call from her husband during work hours on an overcast spring day in March, so her mind was already racing with worry before Bob could even share his reason for calling.
“You need to get to Washington, DC, as soon as possible,” he said.
“What’s happened?”
“General Olds collapsed at his desk, and he’s been taken to the hospital.” Concern marred Bob’s words. “I’m here now, and the doctors are saying he’s going to need several weeks of rest.”
“Did he have a stroke? A heart attack?”
“Not that the doctors have said.” Bob paused. “They’re calling it exhaustion from overwork. We’ve contacted his fiancée and, of course, his sons and their mothers.”
General Olds had been married three times and had four sons. Currently he was engaged to Nina Gore. Nancy had seen the signs of exhaustion—they all had—and frustration pulsed through her. Olds should have been able to take days off—or at least weekends.
“He’s been working around the clock since December.” Nancy rose from her desk. She was the only one in the office currently, and she’d need to find Baker to inform him. “Is there anything we can do?”
“I don’t know yet,” Bob said. “I have a phone call with General Arnold soon, and we’ll discuss the options. General Olds will have to be replaced temporarily. That could affect my position here.”
Nancy stiffened. She was accomplishing her job with Baker on her own merits. But if Bob had to relocate . . . that might change things up again. “All right. I’ll see you when I land. Give General Olds my best wishes.”
“I will. Bye, sweetie. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Her limbs were heavy as she hung up and walked out of the office. General Olds was a lovely, charismatic man who’d put his heart and soul into the Ferrying Command. She hated to hear that he was suffering. Hopefully, he’d make a full recovery very soon. And when he did, she’d insist that he take things easier. Hard to do, she knew. It seemed the entire country was out of sorts.
She informed Major Baker of her plans to return to Washington, DC, and he ushered her on her way, asking her to keep him updated on Olds’s condition. A man down in one part of the organization was a blow to everyone.
She grabbed her bag and tucked the daily newspaper she’d been reading that morning inside. The headlines were full of the Executive Order 9066 that Roosevelt had signed the previous month, on February 19, which enabled the War Department powers to create military exclusion areas. And now Americans of Japanese descent were being sent to “assembly centers”—to await relocation.
To where? Nancy wondered.
It was all so complicated—all so raw. Were these American citizens really being asked to abandon homes, families, careers?
By the time Nancy arrived home in Washington, DC, Bob was there to greet her at the airfield.
“You’re limping,” she said as she watched him approach. “You’re working too hard if your bout with polio is showing.”
“Just tired. And I missed you.”
“We saw each other this morning.” She stepped into his arms. The hug was brief because curiosity got the better of her. “Tell me everything.”
Bob nodded, linking their hands and leading her to the car. “I’ll tell you once we’re driving.” After pulling away from the airfield, he said, “General Olds is on the mend, but the doctors want him home for several weeks, at least. General Arnold assigned Colonel Harold L. George as a replacement.”
“Do we know him?” Nancy asked.
“I’ve met him before. He’s a strategic bombardment specialist.”
“So not exactly the leader to be moving men and supplies across the country?” she asked.
“No, and that’s exactly the conversation I had with General Arnold.” It wasn’t long before Bob pulled in front of their rented apartment and turned off the car. His shadowed gaze met hers. “General Arnold contacted General C.R. Smith today.”
“The president of American Airlines?”
“One and the same. He’s agreed to become Colonel George’s chief of staff at Ferrying Command.”
Nancy waited in the silence of the car, wondering if Bob had another announcement.
“Everything about us is the same, at least right now,” he assured her, “but that could change too.”
Of course. The moment Bob had called to tell her about Olds, she’d known change could be a real possibility.
“Come on, let’s go inside,” he said gently. “I’m starving, and I plan on making you an amazing sandwich.”
Nancy had to be grateful for the small things in life since she had no control over the larger matters. “I’ll eat anything at this point.”
Bob opened the car door, then walked around the front of the car and opened Nancy’s, offering his hand. She took it, and they walked into their small, rented apartment, where Bob set to work making sandwiches, and she perched on one of the two kitchen chairs.
For the time being, they left the radio off, and it was nice to feel like it was only the two of them inside these four walls—tucked away from the rest of the world.
But moments after they began eating, the phone rang.
Bob glanced at Nancy.
“You’d better answer it,” she said calmly, although her pulse was skipping ahead.
When he answered, Bob’s spine immediately straightened, and Nancy heard a lot of “yes, sirs.”
“That was General Arnold,” he told her after he hung up.
She nodded because she’d assumed as much.
“Colonel George is officially replacing General Olds, and when he recovers, Olds will head up the Second Air Force.”
“What does that mean for you?”
Bob slipped his hands into his pockets. “Colonel George is reorganizing the command, and for starters, it will now be called Air Transport Command—or ATC. Colonel George wants me to be his deputy chief of staff for operations, over the domestic wing, which is now going to be called the Ferrying Division. We’ll be over all ferrying operations, both domestic and international.” He drew in a deep breath.
Nancy clapped her hand over her mouth.
“There’s more.”
She lowered her hand, her mind racing with a dozen questions.
“Major Baker is being promoted to colonel and will be put in command of New Castle Army Base in Delaware. And Colonel William H. Tunner will be the commanding officer with me in the Ferrying Division. He’s moving out to join me at ATC.”
“Well . . . I don’t know what to think—it’s a lot.” She sorted through her thoughts. “I’m happy about Major Baker—for his promotion, although I’ll miss working with him. And you’re probably happy about Colonel Tunner since you’re already friends.”
Bob sat at the table again and reached for her hand. “It’s a lot of changes. Are you all right with it?”
“Not that I have a choice, but I’m sure it will be for the best in the end.”
Bob squeezed her hand. “Let’s hope so. I know you enjoyed working in Baltimore.”
“Yes, but I’m happy to do anything that would help.”
His eyes smiled. “I know.”
She breathed out a sigh, her heart rate tapping. “We need another champion for women pilots with General Olds out of the picture for now.”
“No one’s giving up, Nancy.”
She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “That’s good to hear because we can help, and we need the Air Force to acknowledge that.”
Over the next few weeks, Nancy spent most of her time in Baltimore, still working at Logan Field in Dundalk, even though Major Baker had been reassigned. She scanned the newspaper headlines as part of her morning routine. More and more Japanese Americans, those who were at least one-sixteenth Japanese, had been relocated to remote areas converted to serve as “Relocation Centers.” Nancy wasn’t sure how livable places like the livestock pavilion of the Pacific International Livestock Exposition Facilities could be for any human.
She moved to the next article, which was about the WAAC—Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps—proposal before Congress. It had finally passed, even though it had been introduced a year earlier, in May 1941, by Congresswoman Edith Nourse Rogers. Rogers had proposed an official women’s corps as an auxiliary to the Army so that women who worked for the military during wartime would receive benefits just as the men did. Rogers had been a nurse in a Great Britain hospital during World War I and had received no compensation or recognition as a patriot.
Now it appeared as though Congresswoman Rogers had a victory. Oveta Culp Hobby was named the director of the WAAC. Finally, some news to smile about. Nancy read the next article about how the Women Accepted for Voluntary Emergency Service—WAVES—was being added to the agenda, pitched as the comparable Navy branch for women, which would make it easier for the Navy to fill clerical roles at home and allow men to return to sea duty. The WAVES would also aid in bombing calculations, parachute rigging, radio operations, and health care.
Nancy was sure that Jackie Cochran was also eating up this news. It only propelled Cochran closer to having women pilots as a branch of the Air Force.
For Nancy, it was changing the way the nation valued their women. Her skills were more specialized, but if the country wanted women pilots’ aid now, they didn’t have time to wait for approval of militarization. She didn’t want to wait a year or two years or three. Who knew what would happen with the war by then?
She set down the newspaper and called Bob a second time, but no one answered his office phone. He’d told her to call and report on her safe arrival since she’d flown through a spring storm. The flight had been bumpy but nothing that would force an emergency landing. They’d discussed her looking for something else in Washington, DC, but for now, there was still work to be done in Baltimore.
When she arrived home late that afternoon, in much more moderate weather, Bob was waiting at the airport to pick her up, as usual. But he wasn’t alone.
As Nancy approached the two men, she pushed her goggles to the top of her helmet, then undid the chin strap. Over one shoulder, she carried a bag with a few essentials, including some ferrying maps she planned to go over tonight.
“Nancy, I’d like you to meet Colonel Bill Tunner,” Bob said with polite formality, though his eyes were bright.
Nancy had heard plenty about this man, so she was happy to finally meet him. She shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Colonel.”
His handshake was firm, and his mouth quirked into a half smile, his eyes warm. “Very nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Love. I had a conversation with Bob today outside our offices that made it imperative to meet you right away. Sorry to spring this on you.”
“Spring what?” She looked from Tunner to her husband, but Bob wasn’t giving anything away. Pulling off her flight helmet, she ran her fingers through her hair.
Bob motioned for Tunner to continue.
Tunner’s gaze locked with Nancy’s. “Over a water cooler break, your husband mentioned he was hoping you’d landed your plane safely in Baltimore for your job. And I don’t know what I thought—or missed—but I didn’t realize you were a pilot.” He paused. “So, I told Bob I’d been combing the woods for pilots, and here you are. Right under my nose. I asked Bob if there were more women like his wife.”
Bob smiled, and Nancy laughed.
“And what did Bob say?” she asked.
Tunner’s smile appeared. “He said to ask you myself.”
She wasn’t surprised. “Of course he did. He knows better than to answer for me, even though he likely knows my answers like the back of his own hand.”
“Well?”
“I know over a hundred commercially rated female pilots, Colonel.”
Tunner folded his arms. “Really?” he deadpanned, but his eyes were dancing.
“Really,” she confirmed. Tunner didn’t say anything, but Nancy imagined his thoughts turning over possibilities. “I think I should fill you in on the previous proposals I’d put together with General Olds,” she said, “which General Arnold turned down. And how Jacqueline Cochran has been making a push for a military organization of women pilots.”
Tunner folded his arms. “Can I buy you both dinner? I need all the information I can get about what’s been done, what’s been rejected, and how many women could potentially qualify to ferry planes. It’s time for the new guard to take over from the old guard.”
Nancy couldn’t agree more, but she also couldn’t allow herself to get her hopes up too much. She’d been down this twisty path too many times.
They headed to the nearest diner, and over their meal, Tunner suggested they commission women as officers in the WAAC—Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps—that had been formed in May. But that would take an amendment before Congress. Which meant extra time and rolls of red tape.
“General Olds and I talked about having women serve as civilians instead of military employees,” Nancy said after their meal had been cleared.
Tunner smacked a hand on the table, making their utensils jump. “That’s it. If we hire women pilots as Civil Service employees, that keeps them civilians, and we don’t need to go through the red-taped sludge of Congressional approval.”
Nancy’s heart jumped along with the utensils. Was this the breakthrough suggestion that would finally give the women their opportunity?