Rufus Elijah Fort was one of the most successful men in the history of Nashville, Tennessee – and perhaps the most successful in the first three decades of the last the century.

A native Tennessean, born in 1871 to a society family, he earned a degree from University of the South in Swanee,TN. He then attended Vanderbilt University, in Nashville, earning his medical degree from that most esteemed institution in 1894. ^[1] After post-grad work in New York, he returned to Nashville to serve as the head surgeon at Nashville General Hospital and of the Tennessee Central Railway.

He was also a director of the 3^rd National Bank (still today a very large bank in Nashville), a member of the State Board of Health, serving as its president — and more.

While also serving in the faculty of Vanderbilt Medical School he founded the National Life & Accident Insurance Company (later acquired by American General Corporation).  Ever the entrepreneur, he founded a local radio station. Most of the station’s advertising, often built into the shows, was for National Life. He got the call letters WSM — short for “We Shield Millions.” ^[2]

Rufus was enormously financially successful in all of his ventures. Along the way he acquired a large plot of quiet pastoral land, some 360 acres, along the meandering Cumberland River, several miles east of downtown Nashville.  There, he built a large estate, which he dubbed “Fortland.” In addition to farming, he raised horses and champion Jerseys.

He must have been considered quite a catch, but he was too busy for all that. Finally, he met and courted Louise Clark. They wed in 1909. He was 38. Louise would bear three sons, followed by two daughters.

Dr. Fort was stern and cautious. He made his children attend public elementary schools in Nashville to build character, empathy and engage those of lower classes. The city was far enough away that they required a private chauffeur to get there.

He followed developments in aviation closely. It terrified him. So many deaths. So many horrible injuries. It all seemed very dangerous and stupid. One day in 1924 he called his three sons into his office at Fortland. He proceeded to make all three – aged 15, 13 and 10 – swear on the family bible that they would never, ever take to flight.

His five-year-old daughter, Cornelia, was standing just outside his office door. She listened closely. She’d remember this moment for the rest of her life: she never made the vow. It hadn’t occurred to Rufus that she should.

Sunday. December 7, 1941. A lovely clear and calm Pacific Ocean morning over Oahu. The sun rises over the ocean’s horizon. A young flight instructor, in an Interstate Cadet, has handed the plane’s control over to her student, a civilian military contractor at the Pearl Harbor Naval facilities.

“What are all these planes doing here? There shouldn’t be so many at this hour. They’re violating flight rules!”

She sees the red sun insignias. Tracers go by. She yanks back control.

Cornelia Clark Fort, was born to Rufus and Louise, the 4^th of 5 children, on February 5, 1919.

With three older brothers, she grew up fast, tough and strong. And she just plain grew. In high school, at the well-regarded Ward-Belmont private women’s prep-school and college (short walking distance to Vanderbilt University) she quickly approached 6 feet tall.

Tall, gangly and awkward, she didn’t get much attention from the boys — and that was fine with her. She preferred the simple life of horseback riding, fox hunting, and tom-foolery at Fortland. And hanging with girlfriends, who enjoyed visiting the mansion with its considerable acreage.

The life of a debutante, society soirées, servants and tea parties was definitely not for her.  She still felt unappealing – out of place in her own body. At such forced gatherings her dance card was filled out for her, well in advance. Much to her chagrin.

By graduation, she stood at least 5’10”. Later reports put her at 5’11” and one at 6’0”. She stood out in a crowd.

After a year at a military-oriented college (her father’s choice, hoping she’d gain discipline), she went off to Sarah Lawrence College. She was always bookish and well-read. She also loved to write; she kept extensive diaries since her youth. Yet, she never quite fit into the college academia setting. She did, however, start to grow much more confident in social settings, mostly around other young ladies. She often neglected her class assignments, preferring to either read what she wanted, or drift off to New York City with friends to enjoy movies and live theater.

It was exciting to be away and make friends. But it wasn’t for her. She left after two years.

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During a trip home, in January 1940, a friend offered her a joy-ride in a small plane, arranged through her boyfriend. The flight was very short. But it was enough. The thrill was overwhelming.

Rufus had passed away in 1938. So, the timing for flight training was perfect. With her “allowance” Cornelia secretly took flying lessons. A lot of lessons. She had a knack for it. And a passion.

Her first solo was in April, 1940. She was just 21. She earned her license that June.  And her flight instructor’s license the following March.

Eventually her mother found out from brother Rufus, Jr. Both were shocked!

“Your father made you all swear!”

“Mom, he didn’t make ME swear. This is what I want to do.”

Unable to thwart Cornelia’s ambitions, Louise acquiesced. But, always concerned about her daughter’s spiritual life (which seemed to be waning, as often happens at that age) Louise requested that Cornelia never fly on Sundays.

“I saw this plane coming closer, violating air traffic rules. I waited for it to give way for me. And then I jerked the stick out of the student’s hand and pulled the plane up. I had seen the insignia on the Jap (sic) plane – red suns along the fuselage. But I still couldn’t believe it. Then I saw the smoke over Pearl Harbor, and decided it was real.”

She taught at a flight school in Nashville. With the war raging, she knew that the US would soon be involved. She kept her attention on that likelihood. The Army Air Force would soon need a lot more pilots. Knowing full-well that, as a woman, she’d almost certainly never get to fly in combat, she remained committed to helping the war effort anyway – through flying. She sought opportunities to help train new military pilots but made no inroads. She was only 22.

There was a great surge in piloting interest among civilians. Also, among military officers and civilian military contractors. Maybe this was seen as a way to get more prestigious assignments.

Word of her flying talent and passion spread. The Andrew Flying Service, flying out of John Roberts Airport (now Kalaelo Airport some 15 miles west of Honolulu) reached out to her, offering an instructor position. She was hired by wire, with no real interview. Just solid referrals. Departing Los Angeles on September 20^th, 1941 on the S.S. Mariposa, she arrived in Pearl five days later ^[3]

With her growing confidence, poise and maturity, Cornelia developed a glowing charisma. She was an attractive woman after all. At nearly 6 feet tall, with blondish hair, steely-blue eyes, lean and fit, she turned a lot of necks. Especially in that environment — men outnumbered women by about 25:1.

Some took an interest in her. From friends and letters we know that she enjoyed the attention. One guy she rather liked was a student of hers. Bill McCain was a Navy lieutenant, 6’-1”, well cut and assigned to the cruiser USS Indianapolis. He was smitten and fell hard for her. She broke his heart by declining two of his proposals over the next year and a half, although they remained very good friends … frequently corresponding and meeting when chance brought them to the same city. She was more than once a guest at his family’s house. ^[4]

Cornelia made pretty good money, $15 for a 45-minute lesson (not that she needed it). She was “living the life.” Flying was her first love, and she was getting plenty of it. She was making friends, growing very comfortable in social situations, and was an occasional tourist in a truly beautiful locale.

[Many customers appeared to be single women. They often missed their appointments but afterward paid anyhow. Cornelia was shocked to find out later that many were prostitutes, who themselves were making pretty good money in that environment. It all made sense, eventually].

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Cornelia quickly landed the plane, while witnessing “shiny things” (bombs) fall from above toward the ships in harbor. One passed quite close to her plane. She and her student sprinted into a hangar. The sounds of strafing bouncing off the tarmac rang in their ears. “Nobody on the ground would believe me, until a mechanic ran up and said that Bob Tyce, the airport manager, had been killed.”

Afterward they noticed that the plane was scarred with dozens bullet holes. Perhaps it took hits on the ground, but the bird also took hits in the air.

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She was likely the first US pilot to take fire over Hawaii that fateful day.

Of course, it was all over for any civilian flying anywhere in the Pacific, let alone Honolulu, home of the US Pacific Fleet. It was over for just about everything. The lights went out. Night life stopped. Booze stopped flowing. No communication with the continent; it was all cluttered with military and state department wires.

Getting back to the mainland was difficult

No fun for Cornelia. After seven weeks, she finally secured passage home through her brother’s connections with Tennessee Senator McKellar.

She was quite the media sensation. Pictures of her and the descriptions of her “Day of Infamy” experience were in every major and most minor newspapers and magazines around the country. She was famous.

Especially back home in Nashville.

The Fort family phone buzzed from all the calls requesting interviews and photographs. Now a celebrity, she was asked to participate in war bond drives; requests that she always honored. She was continually busy, all this while trying to get back into instructing and visiting old friends.

She was now quite a party personality, smoking and showing a remarkable capability to “hold her liquor.” She was a desired attendee at parties. She was no longer the awkward girl who headed off to Sarah Lawrence just 2 years before.

About this time her mom, Louise, moved away from Fortland.  It was too big without her Rufus. She moved to town, living with Rufus, Jr. The mansion was effectively mothballed. Still, Cornelia swung by to see the place for old time’s sake, and to drop off her most recent diaries and correspondence.

In Nashville she was shocked at the impact of war rationing. Even in Tennessee, rationing was severe. The familiar luxury had disappeared.

She returned to flight instructing in Nashville. She was still probing for ways to use her only real talent to help the war effort. The US was most definitely at war now… in a big way.

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The nation was in need of both pilots and airplanes. With many thousands of all sorts of aircraft rolling off assembly lines from Downy, California to Long Island, New York, they’d also need pilots to ferry those new planes to military bases around the country.

A ferry service was developed for this. Yet, with so many pilots required for warfare, the military could ill afford to have every single one of those planes ferried by men. A ferry service was birthed.

In September, 1942, a cable arrived addressed to Mr. Cornelia Fort. She was to report to Dover, Delaware for ferry flight training.

When pushed by her mom to inform them that she was really a female flyer, they replied, in effect: oh never mind that, we need you. Report to Newcastle airfield, Delaware ASAP.

She was one of the first two dozen female ferry pilots to be recruited (and the 2^nd to report) as, it turns out, into the Women’s Air Ferry Squadron (WAFS).

Nearly all of this early class were from upper society classes: it cost a lot to learn to fly on your own.

There was much to learn — not just military protocol and new aircraft types, but also marching and uniforms. They hated those parts, but accepted it as necessary.

The really good things about being in Delaware: flight experience in new planes and they had access to the officers’ club.

Their leader was Nancy Love — a skilled pilot already with over 3,000 flight hours. In fact, it was she who convinced Colonel William Tunner to spin up the WAFS. She was a great leader for them, but a poor marching leader – once leading them over a 10-foot embankment, which brought howls of laughter from her charges.

She encouraged all to use the new Link simulators. Eventually Cornelia thought they were fantastic.

Nancy advised them sternly. When flying with men, don’t ever let them get close to you. Many have been trained in formation flying. You have not. Many are young. Some might startle or annoy you — or show off. Always keep at least 500 feet between you and any other plane. Always.

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The weather along the east coast was miserable almost all fall and winter.  Cold. Storms. Wind. Fog. The team was often grounded. Too often. They grew grumpy. Cornelia focused many daytime hours on the simulator.

When they did fly, the craft were mostly small and often with open cockpits. They froze. In the thick winter storm clouds, fog and winds, they sometimes lost course, without radios, no beams to follow, and only maps in their laps … which flapped in the wind.

Still, they always got the job done, and every plane was delivered safely.

It was not glamorous. Getting to the pickup site, then home from the delivery site, was often as exhausting. Trains. Wee hour connections. Little towns. Funky hotels. Bad restaurants. But, on a positive note, sometimes it gave the odd opportunity to meet up with old friends.

In December, 1942 most of the WAFS from Cornelia’s group were informed they’d be transferred to Long Beach, CA at New Year’s.  They would not miss the east coast weather.

En route to Long Beach, Cornelia was able stay in Nashville at Christmas time, visiting friends and staying mostly with family. She made a short trip out to the empty Fortland to reminisce and drop off a couple volumes of her diary. This extended time with old friends and her mother was precious.

Heartbreak. Fortland mansion sat empty along the right bank of the Cumberland. Electric power still ran to the house for occasional visits and cleaning. That was unfortunate. The fire occurred a few days after Christmas, 1942, just after Cornelia had left Nashville. A small electrical short started a fire. With no one around, the fire grew to a conflagration before any fire fighting began.

It was a total loss. Everything. Cornelia was distraught for her mother. And for herself. All evidence of her childhood memories – gone. Years of diaries and correspondence – gone. From her letters it seems she never got over this loss.

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The WAFS got a lot of duty out of Long Beach. They were flying L-4Bs, BT-13 and -15s, PT-19s and PT-26s.  The Vultee BTs were larger and more powerful than the aircraft they were used to flying back East. Thanks to the simulators and early training at Long Beach, they adjusted to them well.

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The long run from Long Beach, over the endless expanses of the southwest United States, to Love Field in Dallas was soothing.  Comforting.  No incidents or complications. Today we might say it was becoming a “milk run.”

The WAFS were doing so well, in fact, that Nancy Love was beginning to fly P-51 pursuits and C-47 transports. Soon Cornelia’s very good friend Betty Gillies, whom she met early back in Delaware, would be flying the huge fighter, Republic’s P-47 Thunderbolt (AKA Jugs).

A large ferry flight of about two dozen BT-13s and -15s began March 20, out of Long Beach, headed for Love Field (no connection to Nancy Love). All was smooth. They landed easily in Tucson for fuel and an overnight. As per usual most of the pilots got together in the evening to socialize. Trade stories. Piloting. Life on the move. Away from home. That night the topic of formation flying came up.

It turned out that all of the men – many only 90-days out of flight school – and even a lot of the women, had done formation flying while ferrying. This was strictly verboten. Cornelia never had. For her flight was all serious. She still carried a whiff of the discipline her father had tried to instill.

She mused, “well, maybe I’d like to try it.”

Sunday, May 21, dawned clear, calm and sunny. Perfect. By 9:30AM they were all up in the air. They headed east, soon breaking into several groups.  Cornelia Clark Fort was in a group of seven: 6 men and 1 woman, herself.

They flew into Midland, TX for refueling and a bite to eat. The topic came up again.  Cornelia seemed more open to the notion. She knew 500 ft (about 165 meters) was the proximity limit, but, I guess, everyone was doing it.

Easy peasy.  Flight straight and level and leave it to us.

They took off at about 2:30PM, circled to 7,000 ft then headed off for Dallas.

Mulberry Canyon lies near Abeline, Texas, some 10 miles generally southwest. It’s about half-way between Midland and Dallas. It was there that the left wing of Fort’s Vultee BT-13 violently clipped the landing gear of another plane.

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The ground impact was so violent there was no explosion: full speed, straight down, falling from 7,000 feet. The plane’s engine simply buried deep into the soil; the fuselage fragmented into hundreds and hundreds of metallic shards and wooden splinters. Only 40 of Cornelia’s 145 pounds were recovered.

She had just turned 24 years old the previous month.

A military investigation report determined that Cornelia probably lost consciousness on impact with the other plane; other pilots saw no attempt to right the plane or pull out – which, in any case, would likely have been futile. Both pilots had violated the 500 ft spacing rule; no additional fault was assigned to her or the other pilot. ^{[See footnote 6]}

Cornelia Clark Fort was the first death of a woman pilot in service to the country. In one careless moment — out of her 1,100 total flying hours — the US lost what surely would have been one of its greatest female aviators ever. [The other pilot had only about 300 hrs]

Louise learned of her daughter’s sad end by phone that night. Then, the next day:

Cornelia’s remains were sent to Nashville. The Episcopal funeral was overflowing. Nashville and the nation mourned her passing. Officially she was civilian, not military. There was no military burial. Nor any financial recompense.

A small collection of Cornelia’s belongings was sent to Nashville. Therein: Another heartache. Unbeknownst to her family, and, it seems even her friends, Cornelia had fallen in love. Hard. A returned letter she had written to a Lt. Joe Koons was in the collection.

She had met Joe in her travels, perhaps even Hawaii. He was stationed somewhere in the Pacific. Her letter implies that they had been able to meet up, briefly, several times along their travels.

It’s a fairly common name.  I didn’t find much. But I did find a Lieutenant Joe Koons in a military report. He had flown P-61 Black Widows out of Pearl on the “Day of Infamy”, Dec 7^th; and later P-51s in the Pacific. At Iwo Jima, in February-March 1945, he earned one of only three Air Force Silver Stars awarded for Iwo. The name, rank, and location (Pacific) match all that we know about him from Cornelia’s letter.

Once the Pacific island hopping began, I suppose, the military mail service could no longer keep up with all the moves – especially for pilots. And that’s why the letter was returned. Otherwise, we’d never know of her love. My conjecture – but likely.

Her words to him were heartbreaking. Although brief, she poured out all her feelings for him, wishing they could spend much more time together, and soon. And hoping they could spend their lives together after the war.

She was the first female pilot to die in military service to the nation. Eventually, there would be 37.  Like Cornelia, none received military honors, benefits, or the honor of a military burial.

Cornelia was laid to rest in a large graveside ceremony at Mount Olivet Cemetery, in Nashville – Section 25, Plot 40, Row 2 – just steps from her father, Rufus Sr.

Much of the spacious Fortland grounds were later joined with adjacent land and turned into an air park, named Cornelia Fort Airpark. The rest of Fortland, with much more land along the Cumberland, became Shelby Bottoms Greenway, a large reflective space and nature area, now surrounded by city residential neighborhood developments on three sides, the Cumberland on the 4^th. A trail through the nature area bears the name Fortland Trail. ^[5]

The WAFS were soon folded into the Women Air Force Service Pilots – the more famous WASPs. Those who had been WASF were soon flying all sorts of larger aircraft: aircraft used in cargo transport, re-con, pursuit/fighter, and almost all sizes of bombers.

December 7, 1941 and March 21, 1943 were both Sundays.

“I, for one, am profoundly grateful that my one talent, my knowledge of flying, happens to be of use to my country when it is needed.
That’s all the luck I ever hope to have.” – Cornelia Fort.

In 2022 she was inducted into the Women in Aviation International Pioneer Hall of Fame. Nancy Love was inducted in 2008.

Joe Girard © 2025

Thank you for reading. As always, you can add yourself to the notification list for newly published material by clicking here . Or emailing joe@girardmeister.com

Some notes

It’s worth noting that, except for top brass initial apprehension and slow rolling of female pilots, the ladies were overwhelmingly well received and well treated by military men in all branches; yes even the Marines – them especially so.

Helen Love stayed on, even after the WASP program was terminated in late 1944, as the war neared its obvious conclusion. At the war’s end she was honored in a joint recognition ceremony with her husband, and was awarded the Air Medal, which she accepted as a representative of all women who served. [Her husband, an Air Corps Colonel, received the Distinguished Service Medal.

When the Air Force was established (as separate from the Army) in 1948, The Air Force Reserve was formed. Helen was commissioned as a Colonel in the Reserves.

You can still ride with Cornelia! Head to the Foxtrot Carousel in historic downtown Nashville.  The carousel has many figures from Nashville’s history going round and round. Cornelia is one.

A scene in the movie Tora, Tora, Tora has her flying as the attack begins

 

Footnotes:

[1] Full disclosure: I attended Vanderbilt University and earned a Masters Degree in Engineering. I lived in Nashville for two years.
The north edge of the Belmont College campus (now University) is directly south across Wedgewood Ave from where I lived while attending Vanderbilt. No longer women only.

[2] Radio station WSM still exists.  It’s a 50kW clear channel, 650AM. It’s probably the most famous country music station in the world, with its proximity to the truly massive Nashville country music scene. It’s also the home of the Grand Ole Opry, the world’s longest running music and entertainment radio program.

[3] Historical US passenger lists.

[4] McCain was re-assigned from the Indianapolis before its fateful and historic demise on July 30^th, 1945. He and Cornelia remained close, communicating often, with the occasional meet-up.  She visited his family also and all held each other in high regard.

[5] https://www.friendsofshelby.org/history
Except for the small segment for the air field.

[6] I’ve found two likely causes presented. In one, the other pilot startles Cornelia, appearing suddenly above and in front of her. She jerked to avoid it and clipped the landing gear. In the other, Cornelia is approaching from the other plane’s rear, to join up. She approaches too quickly and hits the other plane’s gear.

 

Reference/Bibliography/some sources

“Daughter of the Air” by Rob Simbeck

https://digging-history.com/2014/03/21/feisty-females-cornelia-clark-fort/

https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/features/flygirls-cornelia-fort/

https://nashville.citycast.fm/nashville-history/cornelia-fort-airpark-story-nashville-history

https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1010654/m1/26/

Another source. 

https://www.thisdayinaviation.com/tag/cornelia-clark-fort/