Female Flyers, Big Balls

Isn't it fun to find unexpected tidbits of information when you least expect it? I was just doing a stock photo search in the hopes of proving I wasn't crazy. I was telling a friend that I had seen a few movies set in Chicago that featured a huge river, spanned by bridges, surrounded by big buildings, and that they even dyed it green on St Patrick's Day (WTF?). She said the only water shown was the shores of Lake Michigan, and that I was smoking crack. Well, she didn't say that last part, but it sounds more dramatic for my story. So let's say she even said, "...you are smoking crack, beeyatch" and totally slapped me. Can you believe that shit? You see why I had to prove my point. Plus, I'm a Capricorn; we have issues with not being right. And with being pimp-slapped by high-falutin' aggro people. (Apologies to KsC, who is the most non-aggro person I know. But I bet she could slap hard if she wanted to.)

So anyway, I am looking at all these photos, trying to find this mythical green river of Chicago lore. I find it. Even the dyed green version. I am not crazy. At least not on the topic of the river. And I find this great old photo of a gorgeous black guy in an elborate uniform handing flowers up to a black, female aviator in the cockpit of an old taildragger plane. Think about the significance of the "black female aviator" part. Ever seen such a thing? Me either. I get all excited and started doing some research, which is my usual response to most new things (can't...talk....must....Google...).

Turns out her name was Bessie Coleman and she was the first black woman to get a flying license (1892-1926). She came from a very poor sharecropper family in Texas, and yet somehow she made her way to France in her 20s to attend a prestigous flight school there, since she could not find a flight instructor in the US who was willing to teach her to fly. Dumbasses. This girl was a talented flyer, and she also had a talent for PR and reinventing herself. Her goal was to create a flight school in the US specifically for training black pilots, but she died before that dream could be realized. The sweet part is that a guy named William Powell later established the Bessie Coleman Aero Club for African-American pilots in Los Angeles in 1929. And there are all these great things that now happen in her honor, like an annual fly-over above Chicago's Lincoln Cemetery, where she is buried. There was a black womens' flight club formed in 1977 dedicated to her legacy.

So impressive. This chick was flying tail draggers! Holy crap they are the hardest thing to fly. My old flight instructor used to do aerobatics in vintage bi-plane taildraggers, just like Bessie flew, and he said they were wicked fun, but very hard to fly. They are especially hard to handle on the ground, as the back end shilly shallies all about. When I was 15 or 16, I took flying lessons, with the goal of eventually getting my helicopter pilot's license. When I used to have a particularly good lesson, my instructor would do all sorts of crazy shit in the Cessna 182 that we flew, like loops and death spins. All this over the Los Angeles coast line. I was totally high on excitement. Love that shit. If it makes my stomach lurch, I am all over it like white on rice. Makes me giggle like a school girl. I never made it to my solo flight. I scheduled the flight, but then had some ear problems that required surgery, in order to avoid having my ear drums blow up during quick altitude drops (a regular occurence every lesson). Ouch. I woulda been wicked dead if they hadn't caught it in time. By the time that was cleared up, the deposit was due on art school, and that was the end of that. I figure when I retire it will be something to take up again. That is, if I can fit my big white ass in them little cockpits!

I'm sad to say that Bessie died very young. In 1926, she and her mechanic were on the first test flight of a new plane she had just purchased. The mechanic was at the controls when the plane malfunctioned, went into a spin, and Bessie fell out of the plane to her death. Damn. Makes you wanna wear your seat belt, don't it?

So often we go through our lives not knowing about the people who quietly made a way for us back in the day. Here's a toast to Bessie Coleman, fearless flyer with a set of big, shiny brass balls. C'mon, y'all, raise your glasses. And another drink in honor of meself, which sounds conceited, but it's simply about the fact that I somehow found the courage to fly planes as a teenager, even though I was scared shitless. Surprises me, even now. And one more toast to my Mother, who somehow scraped together the funds for my flight lessons at a time when money was so tight, because she saw how much it meant to me. Big Love from the Big Girl.

More info here on the lovely Bessie.