September 1917. France. He’s flying a SPAD S.VII, a part of the fighter group known as the Lafayette Escadrille. Four bombers and 16 Fokkers identified. A Furbal ensues. [1]
The SPAD S.VII
The Chattahoochee River’s highest headwaters emerge from a tiny spring a-way up in the Blue Ridge range of the Appalachian Mountains in north-eastern Georgia, along the Appalachian Trail. From there, the river grows as it meanders, turning muddier and ever more sluggish.
It winds southwest, becoming the largest river in Georgia. It joins the Flint River near the Florida border. Downstream of that confluence, it’s called the Apalachicola. (I like saying that name.) That river creeps down to the Gulf of Mexico, forming the time zone boundary between Eastern and Central as it flows through Florida’s Panhandle. [2]
Far upstream, the Chattahoochee wanders through the northwest suburbs of Atlanta before slithering more westward, eventually forming part of the natural border between Georgia and Alabama. In Columbus, Georgia—not far from FDR’s Warm Springs—the Chattahoochee separates that city from the much smaller Phenix City, Alabama.
It was there, in Columbus, on October 12, 1895, that Eugene James Bullard was born, the 7th of 10 children, to William Bullard (who had been a slave) and Josephine Thomas, who was of mixed black and Muscogee Creek Amerindian ancestry. [some say October 6]
Dropping out of a cloud he catches a Fokker unawares and squares up behind it. He fires. Then again. Debris of wing fabric. The prey begins descending rapidly, nearly lifeless, unable to keep altitude. He chases it, across enemy lines, diving to confirm the kill.
Growing up in some of the worst Jim Crow years was difficult – traumatic – for young Eugene. He was heavily influenced by his father, who carried a strong opinion that, despite their circumstances, Blacks must maintain dignity and self-respect. At age 8 young Eugene witnessed a mob of drunken whites try to lynch his father, a sight and experience that affected him deeply… and forever.
His dad also told of his children about places like France (which had banned slavery in 1818) where blacks were treated the same as whites.
As Eugene would later write: “My father had told me about France, where a man was judged by his merit, not the color of his skin. And that was where I wanted to go.”
Young Eugene fledged quite early. Yearning for freedom, he ran away at age 11 after completing the 5th grade – the end of his formal education. No, he didn’t’ quite join the circus, or go to France. At least not right away. He joined a traveling group of Roma, [3] “touring” Georgia as a sort of traveling road show, the “Gypsy” clan, who called themselves “Stanleys”, also told him about the Black/White racial equality they’d seen in Britain (which outlawed slavery in 1833). [4]
Suddenly he hears whop!-whop!-whop! Then again. Again. He’s taking fire. Bullets. So many bullets whizzing. The taut muslin fabric of his wings are perforated. Then … a series of metallic “twang” sounds. Rounds striking the SPAD’s engine — it almost immediately begins backfiring, sputtering, and spewing black smoke.
Always with Europe on his mind, he made his way to the Atlantic Coast, taking odd jobs, even winning races as a horse jockey. He made his way to Virginia. There in Norfolk, in 1912, he managed to stowaway on a German steamship, the Marta Russ, bound for Hamburg. The route included a stop in Aberdeen, Scotland. That’s where Eugene disembarked.
He was pleasantly surprised to learn what he’d heard was true. He wasn’t seen as a Black man, he was seen, and accepted, simply as a US American. He was eager to get active and fit in.
He joined a boxing club. He worked in Vaudeville-style shows, performing in a Black troupe called the “Freedman Pickaninnies.” They drew guffaws and laughs with slapstick acts and insights into US culture, especially racism. As a boxer, he spent time training with Aaron Brown, AKA the Dixie Kid, who had taken his great career to Europe. Eugene became a very good boxer, eventually going on tour to fight in places like Paris.
Ahhh, Paris. That was his goal all along: France. He would stay there. He’d be French. He even changed his middle name to Jacques.
He’s over enemy lines. He turns his gasping SPAD, limping along, back toward the French lines. To relative safety. He scans the ground to get his bearings. Then — the engine quits. Completely. Rapidly losing altitude. Looking, looking. There! An open muddy field. Perhaps a hundred yards wide. … In No-man’s land. Going down. [5]
Proudly wearing the Croix de Guerre
The assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife in Sarajevo on June 28, 1914, triggered a chain reaction of catastrophic decisions and ultimatums, fueled by reckless nationalism, that led to the Great War—later called World War I.
Eugene volunteered for the French Foreign Legion. He first saw combat with the 1st Moroccan Division. After heavy losses, the unit was folded into others, and Eugene was reassigned to the 170th Infantry Regiment. There, he earned the nickname “The Black Swallow of Death.” The regiment’s symbol was a swallow; he was Black; and he had proven himself highly effective in battle. [6]
At the Battle of Verdun in 1916, Bullard was seriously injured when a shell exploded nearby. He lost most of his teeth and had a gaping shrapnel wound in his thigh. He was awarded the Croix de Guerre. In recovery several doctors told him he’d never walk again.
He heard, but didn’t listen.
The Croix de Guerre
Knowing his leg injury would make infantry service impossible, he set a new goal: join the French Air Corps. [7]
He applied. Based on his battle record, he was accepted. In November,1916, after his recovery and rehab, he entered the Aéronautique Militaire. Eugene Bullard was now on his path to become the first Black fighter pilot in history.
He completed flight training in the summer of 1917. He flew his first combat mission on September 8.
In No Man’s Land. Bullets zipping over his head, buzzing around him. He scrambles from the wreckage into a conveniently nearby shell crater. Wet. Alone. Dusk comes. He shivers. Then Darkness. Cold. An eerie silence settles over No-man’s Land.
In the stillness he hears faint noises. Voices? Is that French? Yes – French! His pupils are wide. A group of soldiers with horses is coming his way to recover the SPAD. Leading them is, coincidentally, his own aircraft mechanic. The horses lug the crippled plane to the forest line. And, they rescue Bullard.
Bullard flew at least 20 combat missions from September to November (some say 22, and others even up to 29) with 2 very likely kills (not confirmed; he and others saw the targets in a “death spiral” but were unable to witness impact). His first kill led to he, himself, getting shot down … as noted here.
Despite his successes his flying career ended abruptly when a French officer insulted him and, after a brief verbal exchange, challenged him to a fight. Bad idea. Bullard’s boxing skills quickly ended the tête-à-tête — but the win cost him his wings. He was immediately dismissed from the Air Corps and reassigned to the 170th Regiment for non-combat duties.
Now fully French, Bullard remained after the Armistice. He boxed professionally. He helped found, then outright own, a nightclub: Le Grand Duc. [9] He became a jazz band drummer – leading to friendships with both Josephine Baker and Louie Armstrong. [8]
Also fluent in German, Bullard was recruited as a spy in the late 1930s. Nazis often visited his club, assuming he posed no threat. Meanwhile, he quietly gathered intel in plain sight.
May 10, 1940. Nazis sweep through the Netherlands and Belgium, then turn to cut off Paris from the coast. France is desperate. Forty-three-year-old Eugene Bullard joins the French 51st Infantry in its futile defense of Orleans, 80 miles southwest of Paris. It’s a important location, lying at a strategic point on the Loire River. [10]
Again, he’s seriously wounded. It’s time to go.
As France fell, Bullard fled with his two daughters and settled in New York. There, no one knew of his heroic past. He didn’t bother to tell them. He lived in relative anonymity for the rest of his life, working various jobs until he eventually got a steady and good paying one: an elevator operator at Rockefeller Center. [11]
August 27, 1949. A concert in Peekskill, NY to benefit the Civil Rights Congress. Attendees, nearly all Black, were viciously attacked by a white mob – among them members of Veterans of Foreign Wars and the American Legion and even local and state law enforcement officials. Eugene Bullard was among many dozen severely beaten with baseball bats and rocks.
In October, 1961 Bullard had just turned 66 years old. After a life of facing war, racism, injury, and obscurity, he faced his final battle: stomach cancer. Father Time is undefeated. On the 12th day of the month this hero, the Black Swallow of Death, “slipped the surly bonds of Earth.”
Bullard statue, Warner Robins Museum of Aviation
Afterward:
Eugene Jacques Bullard is buried in the French War Veterans’ section of Flushing Cemetery, in Queens. He received a total of 14 decorations and medals from the French Government. His friend Louis Armstrong rests nearby.
Posthumous recognition:
Bullard’s plaque at the Georgia Aviation Hall of Fame
- 1989: part of the inaugural class of the Georgia Aviation Hall of Fame.
- 1994: commissioned a 2nd Lieutenant in the US Air Force.
- 2019: Statue of Bullard unveiled at the Warner Robins Museum of Aviation, GA
- 2022: Inducted into the National Aviation Hall of Fame, in Dayton, OH.
Joe Girard © 2025
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Footnotes and such:
[1] The SPAD S.VII C.1 was the first in a series of single-seat biplane fighter aircraft produced by Société Pour L’Aviation et ses Dérivés (SPAD) during the First World War.
The Lafayette Escadrille was part of the French Airforce made up largely of US American volunteers. It was named for the US Revolutionary war hero, the Marquis de Lafayette, a young French nobleman who volunteered to serve with General Washington.
Furbal – fighter pilot term for a sky full of fighters from each belligerent, each plane maneuvering aggressively trying to shoot down the others’ planes. I imagine they looked like chaos from both the ground and the air.
[2] Only one country calls it the “Gulf of ‘murica.” So, Mexico it shall be here. I do have international readers.
[3] Formerly more commonly called “gypies”; this term is considered pejorative and impolite. Many Roma (also Travelers) had come to the New World via the UK, many sent over just sent to get rid of them.
[4] Not for blacks, but there was prejudice against the Roma. The traveling Roma: in that sense it sort of WAS like joining the circus. Read about Roma Traveling road shows.
[5] No-man’s land: in WWI western front vernacular, the area between the front-line trenches of each side, esp. between the French and/or English lines and the German lines.
[6] Looks like Bullard probably had to wait until October, when he was old enough to voluntarily commit to this.
He was awarded the Croix de Guerre for his service with the 170th in Verdun
[7] There were at least 750,000 casualties in the Battle of Verdun. Some say up to one million. Among these were 300,000 combat deaths.
[8] Josephine Baker is a very, very interesting historical figure, indeed. And worthy of her own bio-graphical “strong woman” essay. Her life’s path was not dissimilar to Bullard’s. Originally US American, bigotry and racism drove her to settle in France after her experiences in Paris during a tour. There she was a highly accepted and respected performer. She worked in the French Resistance and the Red Cross during WW2, thereby also earning the Croix de Guerre.
[9] The Grand Duke
[10] Orleans, famed for Joan d’Arc liberating it during the 100 Years War, was used by Nazis as a transportation, communication and logistics hub until it was liberated in August, 1944 – more than 3 months after the D-Day at Normandy.
France signed an armistice with the Nazis on June 22. Total capitulation.
[11] Eugene Bullard married in France to an exquisite well-bred woman from a family of high society. They got along well and had two daughters. Unfortunately their backgrounds were just too different and the marriage failed. She relinquished custody to him. Good thing. One shudders to think of what could have happened to two young mixed-race girls when Nazi lads laid their eyes upon them.
Best two online resources for this story
https://www.warhistoryonline.com/world-war-i/black-swallow-of-death.html