Tag Archives: World War II

History, Strong Women

Freddie O

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She rode a bicycle with ribbons in her hair—and a pistol in her pocket.

At the age of fourteen, Freddie Oversteegen had set aside pigtails, braids, and bows in her hair, choosing instead the life-and-limb-threatening risks of becoming a key participant in the Dutch resistance. With the natural beauty and deceptively charming demeanor of youth, she carried messages through occupied Haarlem — and weapons too, often using them to deadly effect. As a teenager, she faced perilous situations with remarkable courage, moving through a city under Nazi control while performing acts that few adults of any generation could imagine.

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Freddie was born on September 6, 1925, in Schoten, now a neighborhood on the north side of Haarlem, Netherlands. Her father, Jacob Oversteegen, was a physician, and her mother, Trijntje van der Molen, was a politically engaged woman with strong communist and anti-fascist convictions. (Trijntje is a diminutive, probably for Katharina — Trina or Trijna — a nickname given by her parents that stayed with her into adulthood.)

Despite her father’s profession, the family lived modestly, at one point residing on a moored barge in Haarlem and sleeping on straw-stuffed mattresses. It has been suggested that their limited economic means resulted from Jacob’s difficulty maintaining steady employment. The cramped quarters and simple conditions of barge life brought both hardship and a sense of adventure. Combined with her mother’s strong political beliefs, these circumstances shaped Freddie’s early independence, resourcefulness, and inner strength.

In the early 1930s, following her divorce from Jacob Oversteegen, Trijntje van der Molen sought a fresh start for herself and her daughters, Freddie and Truus. She relocated to the eastern Netherlands, to Epe in the province of Gelderland, where she soon met and married a farmer named Volkerink. The family settled on a modest farm, embracing a rural lifestyle that contrasted with their previous urban experiences. This move provided a semblance of stability, though financial challenges persisted.

From 1933 and throughout the 1930s, Freddie grew up in a household deeply shaped by her mother’s anti-fascist convictions. Trijntje, often with the support of her husband, opened their home to those fleeing persecution, especially Jewish refugees escaping the rising tide of Nazi fascism in Germany and Austria, and later some from Poland.

Freddie and her sister Truus witnessed firsthand the risks involved in sheltering those targeted by oppressive regimes, learning lessons about courage, secrecy, and moral responsibility at an early age. The modest farm and household became more than a home — it was a sanctuary and a classroom in resilience, shaping Freddie’s sense of justice and her willingness to act decisively when confronted with danger.

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Beginning May 10, 1940, the Nazi Wehrmacht launched a full-scale invasion of the Netherlands, rapidly seizing territory across the country. By May 14, the city of Rotterdam was devastated by aerial bombardment, while German ground forces pressed westward. By the end of May, they were rounding up Jews and political opponents in major cities like Amsterdam. In the eastern provinces, including Gelderland, the ground forces advanced through towns and farms, directly threatening civilians. Recognizing the immediate danger, Trijntje fled west with her daughters, seeking refuge in Haarlem, a city the family already knew. Her husband, Volkerink, was likely to have remained behind on the farm to protect his family’s ancestral lands.[2]

Now back in Haarlem, Freddie and Truus’s vocal anti-fascism and evident courage quickly drew the attention of local resistance leaders, making them prime candidates for recruitment despite their young age. Their prior experiences — growing up in a politically engaged household, helping shelter refugees, and navigating life’s hardships — had already honed the independence, resourcefulness, and moral clarity that the resistance valued. Once recruited, the sisters began carrying messages, smuggling weapons, and participating in daring operations, often exploiting their youthful appearance and seemingly innocent charm to move unnoticed in a city under strict Nazi surveillance.

Together with their red-haired comrade, Hannie Schaft, the sisters joined a shadowy resistance network that risked everything to undermine the Nazi occupiers. They sabotaged railway lines, bombed bridges, and sheltered Jewish families in hiding. Some of Freddie’s most daring missions were deeply personal and hazardous: she often acted as bait. Disguised as an ordinary, innocent teenage girl heading to the market or library, she would entice German officers and collaborators to follow her into the woods, where resistance members lay in wait. In some of these ambushes, she herself delivered the fatal shot, demonstrating a combination of cunning, nerve, and lethal boldness that belied her youth.

AI generated.

“The trio had developed a routine: First, the girls approached the German officers in bars, flirted with them, and finally asked them if they wanted to ‘go for a walk’ in the woods, where they were then, as Freddie herself said, ‘liquidated.’ “ [3]

On other occasions, the girls approached Nazi soldiers on bicycles, feigning casual passage before opening fire, then relying on the speed and mobility of their bikes to beat a swift and stealthy escape.

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Freddie, post war

After the liberation of the Netherlands in 1945, Freddie and Truus faced the challenge of adjusting to peacetime life after years of high-stakes resistance work. Freddie married Jan Dekker, likely in the late 1940s, taking the name Freddie Dekker-Oversteegen, and together they raised three children.

Over time, Freddie became increasingly engaged in education and activism, determined to share the lessons of courage, moral responsibility, and the dangers of fascism with new generations. She gave interviews, participated in documentaries, and spoke at schools, ensuring the history of the Dutch resistance and its young heroes endured.

Post-war, staged photo

There were no medals, no glamour, no easy sleep afterward. Freddie would later speak of the trauma—how she had to learn to lock her feelings away, how fear – long suppressed –  never truly left her. After the war, she rarely discussed the things she had done, even as her sister became more publicly known. Freddie lived quietly, purposefully, carrying the stories of many who suffered, many who did not survive—and reminding the world that war does not just shape soldiers. It also shapes teenagers with ribbons in their hair and fire in their hearts.

In recognition of their courage and contributions, Freddie and Truus were awarded the War Mobilization Cross in 2014 for their resistance actions during World War II. A street in Haarlem is named for her.

Later years

Freddie Oversteegen passed away on September 5, 2018, one day short of her 93rd birthday, living her final days in a nursing home in Driehuis. She left a legacy of bravery, moral conviction, and resilience that inspires even to today.

History does not always look like a battlefield. Sometimes, it looks like a young girl on a bicycle — ribbons in her hair and fire in her heart: brave enough to fight evil and dodge death with nothing but courage, cleverness, and a cause worth dying for.

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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

 

 

[1] Shoten is now a northern neighborhood of Haarlem, withing its municipal boundary.

[2] The author presumes the Volkerink, who never formally adopted the two girls, remained in Gelderland, as he largely falls out of her biography at this time (I of course did not check EVERY source … but this appears to probably be the case).

[3] https://ostfriesland.vvn-bda.de/2019/03/09/nachruf-auf-freddie-oversteegen-eine-heldin-des-niederlaendischen-widerstands/
Das Trio hatte eine Routine entwickelt: Zuerst näherten die Mädchen sich den deutschen Offiziere in Bars, flirteten mit ihnen und fragten sie schließlich, ob sie im Wald „spazieren gehen“ wollten, wo diese dann, wie Freddie selbst sagte, „liquidiert“ wurden.

 

Bonus Notes:  All images of Freddie Oversteegen used here are sourced from public domain or Creative Commons (CC0) licensed repositories, including Wikimedia Commons and other freely available historical archives. These images are free to use without attribution or permission.

The name Oversteegen, as in based on the Dutch words, would generally convey the sense of climbing up, and can be interpreted as “to transcend.”  However, it is probably a geographically associated surname: someone who lived on the upper lane or rise.

Biographical, History, Strong Women

Wing and a Prayer

On Saturday, March 20, 1943, a large group of pilots – about two dozen, both men and women – about one-half each – took off from Long Beach and headed east.  They were ferrying BT-13 and BT-15 trainers, built by Vultee Aircraft, at their facility in Downey, CA facility. First overnight stop, Tucson

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 3rd 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 4th of 5 children, on February 5, 1919.

Cornelia Fort, about 6 or 7 y/o

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.

79 Zeros flew at Pearl Harbor, Dec 7. (Mitsubishi A6M2)

“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 20th, 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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Battleship USS California, Dec 7. My father-in-law was a radioman onboard

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.

The Evening Star, Washington, D.C. Wednesday, March 4, 1942. [one of countless pieces]

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 2nd 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.

Sept 26, 1942. Eight WAFS heading off to flight

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.

.Sunday. March 21, 1943. A clear and calm desert morning.  Two dozen BT-13s and -15s take off from Tucson.
The pilots are ferrying trainers to Dallas. From there they will be transported to military flight schools across the south.

A very pretty young lady

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.

BT-13 on runway at Minter Field, CA. Taken March 1, 1943

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.

A flight of Vultee BT-13A Valiant basic trainers, (Smithsonian Institution National Air and Space Museum )

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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Most of the upper surface of the BT-13’s left wing was stripped bare.
The -13 tipped left. Then a slow spiral. Then straight down.

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 Clark Fort. (Tennessee State Library and Archives)

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 7th; 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 4th. 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

How to ride with Cornelia today

 

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 30th, 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/

 

 

USS California alongside Ford Island. Note all the men in the water

Autobiographical, Biographical, Culture, History, Science & Technology

Coleman!

In military terminology, a countersign is a word, phrase or signal that must be given to allow passage beyond anyone at a secure post, such as a sentry.  Usually, it is agreed upon a priori.  For example, in Normandy, on the beaches and on the cliffs, on D-Day, June, 1944, the password response to “flash” was “thunder.”  Sometimes it was more fluid, even impromptu, especially if a leak was suspected.  So, it was often based on contemporary culture:
          (approacher) Pass please.
          (sentry) Yankees Centerfielder.
          (approacher) DiMaggio.
          (sentry) Come through. [1]

Well, my REI winter holiday shopping catalog just arrived, packed with other assorted postal bombardments we are prone to receiving in our mailboxes in this current pre-Christmas season. 

REI.  That brings back more than a few autobiographical memories, and I suppose that’s as good a reason as any to trigger the dance of my fingers across my keyboard to tap out an essay that’s been brewing since the first days of the ‘round the country road trip we took in October.

Vintage REI logo. I couldn’t find one from either the very early days, or a good modern one.

REI (Recreational Equipment, Inc) is a retailer of high-end sporting and outdoor adventure equipment. It’s organized as a cooperative.  It originated in Seattle and has since spread to 138 stores around the country.

I became aware of REI when I first moved to Seattle, in 1980, fresh out of grad school – and fresh out of money.  I mean broke.  I literally had zero dollars and zero cents.  Just a Chevron credit card and – for some reason, maybe since I had just earned an engineering graduate degree – an American Express Card.  On my cross-country trip from Nashville to Seattle I stopped in Denver for a few days; my dad loaned me $200 cash so I could put down a deposit on an apartment. As I was about to pull away he asked if I had any money.  None.  None?  He handed me the cash.  We hugged.  He cried.  It was the first time I ever saw him cry. And that was it.  (I spent part of it to get into Yellowstone National Park on the way to the Great Pacific Northwest).

There is a rush you get after being completely broke, thinking Hamburger Helper and Chunky Soup on toast are great meals, and then cashing fat paychecks for a few months.  [Also, after those few months, a collection agency found me, as a result of my “disappearance” after leaving Nashville.  I was able to resolve that with my newfound wealth]. [2]

One of the places where I splashed cash was REI, in downtown Seattle, taking up much of an entire city block at 11th and Pine.  At the time it might have still been the only REI store in the entire country, even though it was founded in 1938. I think that was still the original location. I soon bought a membership in the Co-op and have maintained it all these years – that’s why I still get catalogs.  And rebates.

Old REI patch. I guess people stitched these onto their backpacks and jackets. Vintage.

All the equipment was (and is) top notch.  I finally had money for needed (or wanted) equipment. Winter was approaching, so at first for skiing.  Poles, skis, boots, parkas, gloves, goggles, ski pants, scarves.  Then shoes for running (New Balance) and boots for hiking the Cascade Mountains (Raichle).

In spring as “better” weather approached, I bought some summer gear, including high-end golf shoes (Foot Joy), baseball shoes, and a camping lantern, made by Coleman.  [“Better” is definitely a relative term in the Pacific Northwest.  Let’s just say it rained less and the sun came out a couple hours a day]

Although I didn’t get the golf and baseball shoes at REI, I did get the Coleman Lantern there.  What a brilliant device.   Not just brilliantly bright, but simply brilliant.

________________________________________________________________

William Coffin Coleman (he usually went by “WC”) was born May 21, 1870 in Chatham, NY.  Chatham is about halfway between the Massachusetts state line and the Hudson River.  That’s about 6 miles east of Kinderhook, NY, home of the US’s 8th President, Martin Van Buren, who often went by “Old Kinderhook”, or “OK” for short.  Soon after, in 1871, while WC was still a suckling infant, the family moved to the far southeast corner of Kansas to homestead, getting their own land to work into a home and to farm.  The long arduous journey was made partly by train, and partly by covered wagon.

The brutally violent and bloody wars in the plains between Native Americans and the US Army were still underway.  It took some gumption and bravery to undertake the long transfer of residence.

Details on Coleman’s life before fame are a bit skimpy, sketchy and inconsistent.  Here’s what I found and have decided upon.

Apparently, Coleman had at least two brothers, as there is reference to them helping with some funding some decades later.  Unfortunately, the Colemans’ father passed away when young William was only 11.  He helped his mother run the farm and found odd work, mostly as a salesman of small merchandise.  He continued selling things – both travelling and in stores – and was able to eventually get a job for a while as a schoolteacher after completing a degree in nearby Emporia, at the Kansas State Teacher’s College (now Emporia State University).

He was also Superintendent of Schools in the Blue Rapids (KS) school district for a while. Then, it seems, he changed the direction of his professional intentions and attended Law School at the University of Kansas.  Always short on money, yet always a good salesman, Coleman sold typewriters as a traveling salesman to pay the bills and tuition.  As money got tighter, he was soon doing more traveling and selling than he was studying law.

Much of the following is Coleman Company lore, but I’m sure there is much truth in it.

One fateful evening in the mid-1890s, while on a typewriter selling tour, Coleman found himself in the hard-scrabble, dusty, dirty, pavement-free coal mining town of Brockton, Alabama.  There, in a drug or department store window, he saw a lantern shining brightly.  He’d never seen anything like it.

It burned gasoline, fed to its combustion under pressure.  He immediately changed from selling typewriters to selling lanterns for the Irby-Gilliland Company, maker of the lanterns, out of Memphis, TN. But first he had to buy the rights to sell the lantern, from the Irby family; the only region he could afford that was near home was in Oklahoma. I can’t find the value, but guessing around $500.

Oh, and Coleman, already long absent, finally dropped out of law school.

Originally sales went poorly. Turns out many customers had already experienced unsatisfactory results, despite the lantern’s brilliance, as the fuel delivery clogged with carbon deposits, and could not be easily cleaned.  Word had gotten around.

Coleman was already in for the $500, probably some it a loan from the Irbys and his farming brothers.  Not about to give up, he hit upon some clever ideas here.  First, he began leasing the lanterns for a small sum, instead of selling them.  He absorbed the risk of lantern failure, and replaced them if/when they failed. He could then refurbish and re-lease them.  This changed his product flow nicely.  Now with promising cash flow, his brothers invested further in his lantern sales and leasing business as well.  Second, with some cash available Coleman could afford to start tinkering with the design in his home until it was virtually flawless.

Until then lanterns were largely dull, wasteful and dangerous.  Dull because the light came from the flame.  Wasteful because much of the energy of combustion went to heat, not light.  And dangerous since the flow of fuel (usually kerosene) was either by wicking up, or gravity drip down, and hence the fuel source reservoir could be accessed by flame, especially in the event of a tipping or dropping accident.  Think Mrs O’Leary and the cow in the shed, Chicago, 1871.

WC Coleman: inventor, tinkerer, entrepreneur, marketer and businessman extraordinaire.

The gas lantern – especially with Coleman’s improvements – solved all those problems.  Instead of a wick, Coleman’s lanterns had a “mantle” which glowed, especially when treated with special chemicals (including, at the time, thorium – yikes!).  The gasoline burned just hot enough to get the mantle’s chemical coatings to glow.  And even though it burned pure gasoline it was much safer, since no flame could reach the gasoline reservoir when accidentally tipped over.  In fact, Coleman soon made his lanterns so rugged that they wouldn’t even break when dropped or tipped over (I can attest to all of this.  However, never, never try to get the campfire to burn more brightly by pouring Coleman’s special white gasoline directly onto the fire.  I can attest to this too. 151 rum is much safer).

Replacing the special mantle occasionally was the only maintenance required.

Coleman bought all the rights to the pressure-fed gasoline lantern from the Irby family.  It’s been purported that this might have cost him a further $3,000. This was also achieved by a loan from the Irbys and his brothers — what Coleman often called “the best sale I ever made.” Implementing his improvements, he started a manufacturing facility in Wichita, Kansas, moved his family there, and began selling the soon wildly popular Coleman Lantern.  In a time of scarce electrical lighting, and pale gas or oil lighting, his lanterns were enormously popular.

Pretty much everyone knew of the popular Coleman Lantern.  He soon applied the pressure fed gasoline concept to make conveniently portable cooking stoves as well.

Legend has it that cattlemen in Colorado once saw a lantern burning so brightly, miles away up in the Rocky Mountain Foothills, that they were sure they had discovered a new star.

_____________________________________________________

Green single mantle Coleman Lantern, vintage 1945.

In times of  military engagement, especially when infantry personnel of one army are likely to come in contact with – or even infiltrate the lines of – the personnel of another army, the use of passcodes and countersigns becomes very important.  This happened to great extent in much of World War II.

In the Asian and Pacific theaters, Japanese intelligence kept spies and infiltrators up to date on American expressions and culture.  Still, this posed little problem, as the US quickly learned to use passcodes and contrasigns like “Lolla-Palooza”, and “Lolli Pop”, words full of Ls. Our Asian allies, the Chinese, could usually pronounce the L.  For Japanese the “L” sound was virtually impossible; even when pronounced as “L” it was so awkward that, either way, like R or L, it was a give-away.

On the other hand, it was much more difficult with our European enemy, the Germans.  It’s well known that German infiltrators and imposters in US uniforms could and did cause much confusion with “false intelligence” about where nearby towns, roads and other divisions lay.  This occurred especially during the Battle of the Bulge, December, 1944. Enough Germans spoke near flawless English, able to produce both American and British accents, that it was quite a dilemma.  Many had been educated in America or Britain.  And, they were up-to-date on much of American culture.

[It’s a strong probability that more Americans were conversant to fluent in German than the other way around.  Many GIs were first generation Germans, who grew up speaking German and often stayed in touch with family in Germany until the war.  More than a few of them were Jews who had fled Germany just a few years before.  It’s also a bit ironic that FDR, then president of the US, was quite conversational in German as well, since he traveled there often — yearly it is said — with his wealthy parents as a youth, and even attended school there at least one year].

There were other problems in Europe too. Over-reliance on modern American culture for security sometimes led to costly, if not funny, mistakes.  For example, on Dec 21, 1944, during “the Bulge” US MP’s and sentries were alerted to the possibility of a German disguised as Brigadier General Bruce Clarke.[3] Well, Clarke himself soon approached a checkpoint and was queried as to whether the Chicago Cubs played in the National League or the American League.  Not a baseball fan, and pressed for an answer, Clarke guessed American (incorrectly) and subsequently spent several frustrating hours in detainment.  [The “intelligence” that Clarke, and other officers, were being impersonated might well have been counterintelligence supplied by clever Germans].

One thing the Germans did not know of American culture was the superb performance and popularity of the Coleman Lantern. In fact, these were used throughout the military.  So, it came to be that the perfect and indecipherable security countersign/passcode combination was to respond “Coleman” to the challenge query “Lantern.”

WC Coleman lived long enough to learn of and enjoy this quirk of history.  He was once elected mayor of Wichita, choosing to only serve one term.  He lived until 1957, still engaged in running his company, as an octogenarian.  He’s buried in his adopted hometown of Wichita and has a plaque on the Wichita Walk of Fame, in City Center.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Although the family lost controlling interest in the company long ago, the Coleman® line of outdoor products is highly respected, even today.  The lanterns remain popular, although the mantles are doped with safer chemicals [Extremely low voltage LEDs threaten to quash them soon].  The stoves are still popular with outdoor enthusiasts.  Coleman has expanded in the camping paraphernalia area to include almost everything outdoor: tents, sleeping bags, jackets, vests, collapsible chairs (some with drink holders, beer-sized), tables, boots, and coolers.  And much more. All of it is high end and highly regarded.  “Coleman” means “quality.” Of course, much of it is available at REI, where everything is high-end, at all 138 locations. Most products are available – naturally, it’s 2021 – on Amazon.  Next day delivery.

Wishing you all a pleasant and happy shopping and holiday season.

Lantern!

Coleman!

Joe Girard © 2021

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

[1] DiMaggio left baseball to serve in the military, 1943-45, returning afterward to many All-Star seasons.  But everyone knew he was the Yankee center fielder.  The most popular baseball player in America, at the time, even when he wasn’t playing.

[2] Hamburger Helper by Betty Crocker.  If you had it, it meant you had meat.  HH stretched meat to more meals.  Chunky Soup, by Campbell, was thick soup with chewy hunks of meat and veggies.  Kind of a splurge, but we always got that (and the beef for HH) on sale.

[3] MP is Military Police

Other stuff: The concept of pressurized gasoline lanterns (and stoves) here.  Old Town Coleman: How Pressure Appliances Work Part I Coleman US lanterns 1981 – 2000 – The Terrence Marsh Lantern Gallery (terry-marsh.com)

Interesting unofficial source of some info

Autobiographical, Biographical, History

Enterprise

My wife and I are very blessed and fortunate.  Our enterprises have afforded us the opportunity to travel rather extensively, compared to our compatriots, mostly in the US and North America – and, to a degree most others have not, across much of Europe and even much of Australia: New South Wales, Canberra, Victoria, South Austrailia … and even Western Australia, which even most Ozzies have not seen.. 

Renting a car for most or part of the trip is often part of the overall calculus, including the financial aspect.  Yes, non-automotive transport is often efficient and quaint – whether by buses or various types of train – and we have certainly made use of that opportunity. But there’s nothing like the good ol’ American feel of independence and flexibility you get from a car.  The call of the open road, where you can get to really out-of-the-way places on your own schedule.  And to have travel flexibility and independence.  Pull over to take in a seductive, attractive random hamlet, or a park, or scenic overlook, or ancient castle.


Sky Harbor’s Car Rental “Palace”

One thing that has struck us is the variability in car rental costs.  Particularly at airports.  Prices can be eye-watering.  Especially at airports like Phoenix’s Sky Harbor Airport. Holy cow! The special add-on fees and taxes there are often more than the raw cost of renting the car!! 

This is, I reckon, largely the result of two major factors.  First, there’s the cost to the car rental company for space at, or near, an airport; it’s often quite high.  Airports are usually run by local Port Authorities, Transit Authorities and/or host municipalities.  They charge very high rates for space because … well, because they can.  It’s part of why a sandwich, a coffee or a beer in an airport is so expensive. Companies must pass this cost along. No sense being in business if you cannot make money.  

The second is the almost unavoidable urge to make someone else pay for your own needs.  Need money?  Easy: just charge special fees and taxes to out-of-town visitors.  The same occurs in another hospitality industry: Hotels.  Let’s have “Joe from Colorado” pay for our fill-in-the blank need (roads, water treatment, schools, ramps, lights).

One way to see a lot of the world without a lot of extra fees and surcharges is to join the military.  Especially the US Navy.  Most sailors get to see quite a lot of the world, even if it is often by peering over endless seas. 

My father-in-law was a Navy man during World War II.  Radioman, 3rd class. He indeed got to see much of the world as a young man, from the Mediterranean to the far-flung atolls of the Pacific.  He also got to see and experience Pearl Harbor on the morning of December 7, 1941.  A regret we descendants all have is that we didn’t encourage him to talk more about this.  But he just never seemed to want to be open about it, … and we respected him, keeping a safe distance from the topic, only probing once in a while. He always stayed guarded and reticent on the topic of war experiences. That’s a trait that many of that Greatest Generation Era shared.  So many memories – not just Pearl, but things like seeing the bloodied Marines coming back from Saipan and Tarawa – would lie largely suppressed for decades, until his final years.  Unfortunately, that’s just as his mind began to cloud.  We cherish the few stories and memories we could get from him.

Well then. Join the Navy.  See the world.  Jack C Taylor, of St Louis, Missouri, was just such a fellow. In 1942 he quit his enrollment at Washington University (in neighboring Clayton, abutting St Louis’s western boundary) and got himself into the Navy, where he became a fighter pilot – flying Grumman F6F Hellcat Fighters off the decks of aircraft carriers. 

The Grumman F6F carrier based fighter

Assigned to the USS Essex in 1943, Taylor participated in many confrontations, including dogfights.  Most notably is the famous and crucial battle of Leyte Gulf in late October 1944.  There, his squadron provided daring and critical strafing cover for torpedo bombers, all targeted toward sinking the Japan’s Imperial Super Battleship: the Musashi.

Taylor also flew sorties as the Essex supported attacks and victories at Guam, Wake Island, Peleliu, among others.  Credited with only two confirmed “kills” himself, Taylor is not an Ace.  However, he was wingman on many “kills” – including during the Marianas Turkey Shoot.  So, his military decorations – including two Distinguished Flying Crosses and the Navy Air medal – were well earned.

Shortly after Leyte, the Essex put into port in the Caroline Islands (Ulithi Atoll).  She was simply short on supplies, having been at sea and in battle for four months (heck of a way to “see the world”).

Taylor was moved over to the carrier USS Enterprise.  [Speaking of Pearl Harbor and Infamy: The US Navy was extremely fortunate that the USS Enterprise, along with the two other operational Pacific Fleet carriers – the USS Lexington and the Saratoga – were not in port when the Japanese arrived at dawn that fateful December Sunday morning]. 

Taylor stayed with the Enterprise for most of the rest of the war.  The focus of the fighters’ value changed, as the Japanese turned more and more toward use of the Kamikaze.  The Enterprise itself, in fact, took several Kamikaze hits … can’t shoot them all down.  Along the way the Enterprise supported many coordinated Naval efforts, from Luzon to Iwo Jima.

A genuine decorated war hero, Taylor returned to St Louis and tried to pick up his civilian life. A natural adventurer ( … adventurer? Well, he did land fighter planes on the decks of aircraft carriers as they pitched and rolled upon the open sea) he started his own business from scratch: a delivery company.  Too early for the needs we now see fulfilled by Ubereats, Grubhub and DHL, he then moved over to selling cars, Cadillacs mostly. 

Successful at that, he planted the idea to the car dealer (Lindburg Cadillac) to get into the car leasing business.  That is: leasing really nice cars to business executives.  His employer agreed. In exchange, Taylor took a 50 percent pay cut and dumped $25,000 of his own money to bootstrap the operation. He ran the business out of the dealership, still selling cars on the side. He expanded over a few years to three locations in the Saint Louis area.  The company was called Executive Leasing. 

The quality of cars was good, the clientele loyal, and Taylor ran a tight financial ship.  The company was making money within a few years; Taylor was soon the primary owner and principal.  Customers began pestering him to rent them cars for short periods of time.  This is not something he wanted to do; he had a very simple business model that he was not eager to relinquish (leasing to executives for 2-3 years); it was stable and making profits.  The pestering continued: short-term rentals. After a few years, he relented.  He would add short-term car rentals alongside his long-term lease business.

Taylor and Executive Leasing began the short-term car rentals business in 1963.  Within a year the rental business grew to be much larger than the leasing business.  One reason is that Taylor creatively partnered with auto insurance companies.  When clients needed a rental (because of repairs needed after a crash) Taylor would rent them quality cars at low rates.  His business boomed.  He had outlets not just in St Louis, but now in several other cities.

It grew wildly, mostly by word of mouth and Taylor’s growing network of connections.

It was time to face the truth, something Taylor had denied from the beginning: he was in the car rental business, not the leasing business.  And he had a new improvised business model that was simple and efficient: small rental sites scattered around cities.  And mostly not at airports.

The company couldn’t be called The Executive Leasing Company anymore.  What should the company be called now?  He reached into his past and pulled up the glory of the USS Enterprise.

And that’s how the vast Enterprise Car Rental company got its name.  The overwhelming majority of its sites are off-airport. All across America, over 10,000 of them … tucked into business parks and strip malls and low-cost locations in neighborhoods of medium to large sized cities.

USS Enterprise, leaving Pearl Harbor, August, 1944
(National Museum of Naval Aviation RL Lawson Collection)

Mr. Taylor was very enterprising.  He went coast-to-coast. He expanded into Canada and Europe.  Enterprise acquired National and Alamo car rentals.  It became a huge enterprise, and remains so to this day. It is usually ranked #1 among car rental companies for volume and quality. [Ref here]

We have rented off-airport cars in Canterbury (UK), Freiburg, Landau and Munich (Ger), Wollongong (Aus) and, yes, even in Saint Louis, Missouri (actually Clayton, the original and current hometown of Enterprise Car Rentals).  Most of those are quite convenient, as you can usually take public transport to near the rental site from the airport or train station. If not, Enterprise will usually drop the car off — if you are within 5 miles or so. And pick the car up when you are done!

Since these are not at airports, not only are the surcharges and extra fees quite low to non-existent, but they also usually also have lower drop fees; which is great if you want to end your car rental adventures in a different city than where you start.

Honesty here: Although many of these off-airport experiences were with Enterprise, some were through EuropeCar, which seems to have a similar business model, and the same logo colors: Green and White.  [I know we used EuropeCar in Saint-Lô, Normandy, and Landau (twice).  BTW, The folks at the Enterprise in Canterbury were just lovely; on that trip I dropped the car far away: in Edinburgh.]

Taylor and Enterprise were very generous with their fortune.  By himself, and through the Enterprise Foundation (his company’s charitable arm), he donated several hundred million dollars to philanthropic causes.  Geographically, these recipients and donations were widespread, going into the communities where his neighborhood rental offices were located, often to provide assistance to underserved children.

He also donated very generously in the St Louis area.  He donated millions and millions to the St Louis Philharmonic, to the Missouri Botanical Gardens, and to local youth organizations and colleges. [Including Rankin College, where our dear friend Max Storm taught for almost three decades]

Jack Taylor ended up having a wonderful and successful life by any measure.  His enterprises were successful, and he left us and his family with terrific stories.  We and future generations will have at least two more reasons to remember him. (1) The US Navy has just completed the Jack C Taylor Conference Center, at the US Naval Academy in Annapolis (a truly beautiful campus in a beautiful city).  And (2) the Missouri Botanical Gardens in his hometown of Saint Louis is currently building a new visitor center, to be named for Mr. Taylor.

Jack C Taylor passed on in 2016, aged 94.  Thanks for all you did, sir.

To you readers: Be well. Live and love large.

Joe Girard © 2021

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

Miscellaneous additional reading:

How to Save Money on Rental Cars: Rent Away from the Airport |

Moneyhttps://www.enterpriseholdings.com/en/press-archive/2016/07/jack-crawford-taylor-war-hero-business-leader-philanthropist.html

World War Fighter Pilot Jack Taylor Dies: Founded World’s Largest Car Leasing Company | Naval Historical Foundation (navyhistory.org)

Microsoft Word – Taylor Master.doc (navyhistory.org)

Biographical, History, Science & Technology

Whether the Weather

“Without a doubt, chain of command is one of the most durable concepts in military organizations.” [1]

Clarity: It is critical that each warrior be responsible to a single set of orders; and that those orders ultimately flow through a single person: a designated leader. Often, it is likewise with briefing and council of such leaders: well considered, well delivered and filtered information is better than too much information; it must come through a single responsible person.

“Red Sky at night: sailors’ delight.
Red sky at morning: sailors take warning.”

Not long ago. ‘Twas before weather satellites. Before weather apps sent us instantaneous forecasts and updates – for free. Before flocks of powerful computers, powered by speedy powerful, parallel processors, loaded with forecasting programs and access to over a century of meteorological data. Before all that, people relied on little bits of wisdom, like that captured in this poem couplet, to help foretell the weather. 


The insight of this this poem has been used for millennia.  One of the earliest written records is this reply to a demand for a sign from heaven:

It is one thing to gage likely weather for smallish things like picnics and hikes, and larger things, such as if a ship should leave the safety of port. It is something completely different when the future of the world depends upon predictive correctness. Yet, decades before the space age, satellite imagery and the internet, a small group of people – led by an enigmatic man – made the most important and unlikely, yet correct, two-day weather forecast in the history of the modern world.  Working with similar information, teams of weather scientists only a few miles away made different forecasts.  The world-changing consequences were immeasurable.

________________________________________________________

The enigmatic man was James Martin Stagg. He was born to a plumber and a homemaker at the dawn of the 20th century, June 30th, 1900. His first name was that of his paternal grandfather; his middle name matched his mother’s maiden name. Hometown: Dalkeith, a small market town, some 15 miles south-southeast of the big city of Edinburgh, quite near the Firth of Forth – close by the North Sea. It’s a place where one becomes accustomed to the capriciousness of weather.

James Martin Stagg

His parents were stern Scots. They raised him to be disciplined, thorough, hard-working, and accountable. He was also considered rather bookish and unemotional. Humorless. These were all traits that would serve him, and the world, well.

By age 15 James had received as much local education as possible in Dalkeith. Clearly bright and promising, he was sent off to further his education, in Edinburgh.  By 1921 he had earned a master’s degree from prestigious Edinburgh University. His career began as a teacher and science master at George Hariot’s School (primary and secondary boarding school), also in Edinburgh.  He also began post-degree research in a field that would fascinate him for the rest of his life: Geophysics.  In particular, he studied the earth’s magnetic properties.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Whether the weather be fine,
Or whether the weather be not.
 
Whether the weather be cold,
Or whether the weather be hot.

We’ll weather the weather,
Whatever the weather,
Whether we like it or not!

_____________________________________________________________________________

Weather forecasting was improving steadily during the first few decades of the 20th century, well beyond simple poems, owing largely to the development of powered flight – for commercial and, later, military purposes. Reasonable forecasts – wind, precipitation, cloud cover – were invaluable to pilots and navigators.  And flight gave opportunity for a bonanza of further atmospheric data collection and observation.

The century had already dealt humanity horrible calamities due to inaccurate forecasts. In the US this included deadly hurricanes (such as Galveston, 1900; and the Long Island Express, 1938) and lost aircraft: commercial, private and military.

A mixture of art and science, weather forecasting was evolving rapidly.  Some schools of thought promoted using centuries of meticulous records (even Thomas Jefferson kept detailed weather logs) and then trying to fit current readings with known patterns observed over time.  Others were promoting a rigorous science-based approach, with the belief that given enough data the weather could be forecast days in advance, based solely on atmospheric data and physics-based mathematical models.  Without high speed digital computers and data base programs, both approaches were handicapped as World War II broke out, September 1, 1939, and continued for six years.

___________________________________________________________________________

Even in the 1940s, Americans who dwelt in the Midwest, or in the east, would be astonished at how feeble weather forecasting was for the British Isles and much of western Europe, from the coasts of France to those of Norway. 

Why? Two major factors.

Factor one: Geographic location. Americans from the Great Plains to the Atlantic Coast reaped some under-appreciated major benefits here.  One was the mid-latitude Westerlies: a general motion of west-to-east wind and weather patterns between 30 and 60 degrees latitude. Another geographic benefit was the sheer immenseness of the continent.  From across the country – from cities and towns and airports and major rail stations – weather observations were constantly wired to the National Weather Service.  Usually throughout each day. 

Formed in 1890, the NWS was staffed with hundreds of dedicated hands-on human data processors who would manually amalgamate an astounding mountain of data – air pressure, temperature, wind speed and direction, cloud cover and type, precipitation amounts and rates – and concoct a pretty reasonable weather forecast for the few days ahead.  The country – from farmers to aircraft – relied on these forecasts.

The second fact simply is that the North Atlantic is not a continent. There were very, very few weather reports from which to synthesize forecasts in “the pond.” It is as much a weather generator as it is weather receiver. Any details gleaned from shipping vessels were invaluable.  Weather reports from Maine to Newfoundland, from Goose Bay, and from Thule to Iceland, were scrutinized for every possible detail.  Remote stations in Ireland, Scotland, islands in the Irish Sea and along the Welsh coast could provide, perhaps, at most, a half day’s alert. The Atlantic dynamically battles with the Arctic here: ocean currents, the Jetstream, and vagaries of high latitude weather formation over a cold swirling ocean were simply not fully understood.

____________________________________________________________

Although degreed in Geophysics, James Martin Stagg’s eclectic career and training earned him high praise, and he received an appointment at Britain’s Meteorological Office (usually just called “the Met”) in 1924.  His responsibilities, experiences in travel, life and career, and the respect of other scientists continued to grow.  For example, in 1932 he led a one-year expedition to arctic Canada, where he gained first-hand experience of weather variability north of “the Westerlies.”

His career flourished.  In 1943 Stagg was appointed the Chief Meteorological Officer to Allied forces in Western Europe. The main mission: learn enough history and patterns of north Atlantic weather sufficiently well to make predictions for an invasion – the invasion to liberate western Europe. Today we call this D-Day and Operation Overlord.

Stagg’s partner and righthand man at this task was Donald Yates, a graduate of the US Military Academy at West Point. The US Military has always been great at identifying and developing potential: as an officer, Yates went on to earn a master’s degree in Meteorology from CalTech before joining Stagg.
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Chain of Command.  The allies were blessed with capable generals from many backgrounds; – yet, more than a few were prideful and bullheaded.  Think Patton and Montgomery. They also had widely varying backgrounds. But only one person could be the supreme leader of all Allied military operations in Europe.  President Roosevelt, counseled by eventual Nobel Peace Prize winner George Marshall, and Prime Minister Churchill chose wisely.  They quickly settled on Dwight D. Eisenhower (affectionately known as “Ike”) for the singular role, even though he had only minor actual leadership experience in battle.

Ike was just one of hundreds of possible candidates.  Scores were more senior and battle-hardened; and many of those looked askance at this choice – and at Ike. 

But Ike was gifted.  He understood logistics and intelligence; he possessed superior organizational, administrative and people skills.  Above all, he showed excellent judgment. In many ways he was likeable, and considered jovial and friendly; in times of critical decision he was pensive, careful and largely unemotional.

Likewise, the allied Allied weather staffs were full of capable yet strong headed individuals from various backgrounds. But only a single person could be responsible for advising General Eisenhower. The person selected was James Stagg.  Assisted by Yates – the two acted largely as equals – Stagg’s job was to assess and make recommendations based on input from three independent teams of meteorologists. 

Those three teams represented: (1) the United States Army Airforce; (2) the British Meteorological Office (or the Met); and (3) the British Royal Navy. Stagg – like Ike – was seemingly unqualified for the job to many close observers.  His appointment as the single person responsible for meteorological advice – like Ike’s – was unappreciated by many highly trained and more experienced meteorologists, most of whom considered themselves to be superior.  Yet – like Ike – Stagg had a long reputation for exceptional judgment, and a record for careful, unemotional decisions.

Single person chain of command. Ike on the overall mission to take Normandy and western Europe.  Stagg on weather forecasts presented to Ike.  Simple. 
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A quick overview on D-Day, judgment, and the weather. Since early 1942 Europe and Stalin awaited the opening of a military front on the Third Reich’s west.  They would have to wait until at least the spring of ’44, before Ike and his staff thought they could pull it off. In fact, Ike was not formally in charge of European operations until January of that year. The secret chosen location was a 50 mile stretch of beaches in Normandy, west of the Seine estuary near La Havre, and east of the Cotentin Peninsula. 

What were the required conditions (besides secrecy and overwhelming force) for success of the largest landing invasion in history? 

First and foremost, relatively calm seas so the landing craft could navigate the English Channel and get to the Normandy coast.  Upon this hung any chance of success. And this depended almost solely on Stagg and the teams of meteorologists.

Second, dawn tidal conditions to suit the Higgins Boats (landing craft): a rising tide shortly after a low tide.  The rising tide would help carry the craft into shore; the lower tide would help them avoid German defense obstacles. This condition could be met with a nearly full moon, or nearly new moon.

Third, mostly clear, calm skies. This would assist pilots and their cargo – about 14,000 paratroopers and 4,000 glider troops – and give the best chance to hit drop zones. These would come in the dark pre-dawn hours; the first jumps came shortly after midnight.  Again, this depended on Stagg.

Fourth and finally, as a “nice to have”, but not a requirement: a full, or near full moon; again, to help paratroopers and their pilots.

May was an extraordinarily calm month, yet Ike did not think they were quite ready yet.  June 5th, one day before a full moon, was chosen.  All Allied – and German – meteorologists watched the weather, collected data and daily drew hundreds of charts by hand.

The glorious, calm, balmy western Europe spring suddenly turned nasty on June 4. Stormy skies and seas, with high winds and waves, and driving rain, pelted the British Isles and the Channel. 

Stagg consulted with his three teams. There was bitter debate and ridicule among and within the teams on the weather outlook.  The USAAF team, led by Irving Krick – who, coincidentally, had also earned a PhD in meteorology from CalTech – was “gung ho” for June 5th.  The two British teams weren’t so sure: one cautiously optimistic, the other firmly against.  The situation looked unsettled.

Outside of the weather, everyone really wanted to go June 5th.  To stand down could be most discouraging.  The men were mentally and spiritually as ready as they could be.  Many craft were already loaded and in the water.  The battleships were ready, staffed and ready to cruise.  The planes were all checked out.  Infantry, paratroopers, coxswains and pilots wrote wills; they wrote what could well be their last letters to family, wives and girlfriends.

Ike called in Stagg.  What about the weather? Quite possibly the outcome of the entire war in Europe hung on Stagg’s shoulders. On one hand, if he recommended a No-Go, i.e. a postponement, then the invasion might not occur for weeks, or even months. The weather looked to be settled in for a long stretch of ugliness. Could the Allies maintain the surprise that long?  What, meanwhile, would befall the beleaguered civilians in occupied Europe? On the other hand, if he recommended a Go for June 5, it was possible that the weather could cause catastrophe for the invasion – in fact, it might self-destruct.

Stagg recommended a postponement. Ike pushed him: really?  Are you sure?  Yes, he was. Like everyone, Ike really wanted to go. But, he acquiesced: he’d give the order to stand down.  But what about the next day, June 6?  There was a likely window of a few hours in the morning when the landings would be possible.  Standby.

German forecasters, with similar access to history and data – although not quite as extensive – came to a similar conclusion.  There would be no invasion on June 5.  The weather looked so bad, in fact, that they forecast no likely invasion for at least two more weeks. Consequently, many German officers left their posts for personal leave, or to attend war games in Rennes. Many troops were given leave also. Erwin Rommel, the famous German general (The Desert Fox) who had been made commander of all Atlantic defenses even went home for a few days, in order to surprise his wife on her 50th birthday.

Krick’s team was so disappointed in the June 5th stand-down order that they tried to go around Stagg and get to Ike through back-channels.  Good thing it didn’t work: the tradition of military chain of command stood firm. That day, as it turns out, would have resulted in a tragic outcome for the Allies. The German defenses would have barely had to fire a shot. Weather would have thwarted most flights, and tossed the Allied boats and ships to-and-fro all over the Channel. Battleships in the channel, pitching and rolling, could not have shelled the German bunkers with their big guns along the coast.

Weather chart for June 6, 1944

Later that night, Ike called for Stagg again. So: what about June 6th?  To varying degrees all three meteorological teams supported taking the chance; each with differing and various concerns and caveats – except Krick, who was still gung-ho. It seemed that a high pressure was edging up from the mid-Atlantic, with just enough relief to offer a good possibility for the morning of the 6th. 

Normandy Beach (Utah), June 6, 1944

Would it be perfect?  No. Mixed, intermittent clouds (scattered in east Normandy, thick in the west), ground fog, and breezes would surely make it rough on paratroopers and their pilots (most sticks did miss their DZs — drop zones).  But the landing craft could probably get to the beaches. Ike considered Stagg’s and Yates’ inputs, concerns and recommendation. 

Ike conferred with his top leadership team to consider Stagg’s report. The three highest ranking members of this team were all Brits: Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery (British Army); Commander-in-Chief of Naval Operations, Bertram Ramsey (Royal Navy); and Air Marshal Arthur Tedder (Royal Air Force). The first two leaned toward GO. But Tedder was against June 6th — the possibility of cloud cover was too risky. Ramsey then reminded Ike that the 7th could not possibly work, as many sea vessels would have to return to port to refuel, postponing a possible attack many days.

Ike considered all inputs an opinions. Then announced: June 6th was a GO. 

Had Stagg or Ike been more cautious and postponed yet again, the next possible dates were June 19 & 20. The tides, of course would cooperate, but it would be moonless. 

The Allies continued to put similar effort into weather forecasting after the successful June 6th landings.  Air Force sorties and trans-channel crossings with supplies went on almost daily, quite dependent on their dependable forecasts.  June soon turned stormy again. Yet the forecasts for June 19 were for relatively calm skies and seas.

Had the Allies stood-down again on June 6th, then almost surely the three teams, Stagg and Yates would have recommended that Ike go ahead with a June 19th invasion.  Especially after postponing twice. Ike would have accepted that and issued the invasion “Go” order.

That would have been one of the worst disasters in military history. It was called “A Storm from Nowhere.” Tremendous winds and waves lashed across the Channel and crashed into Normandy.  The large temporary Mulberry harbors were damaged, one of them destroyed completely.  

Sometimes you need to be good AND lucky.  June 6 was a good choice.  And it was a lucky choice. Ike and Stagg were the right choices for their roles. They played the odds, trusted their guts, rolled the dice and chose well.  The world is better for it.

After the war, Ike of course went on to serve two terms as US President.  Between the war’s end and the presidency he held multiple leadership roles, first as Governor of the American Zone in occupied Germany; here he is most noted for ordering thorough photographic evidence of Nazi death camps, as well as organizing food relief for German civilians. Ike also served as Army Chief of Staff (succeeding Marshall), the first Supreme Head of NATO, and President of Columbia University.

Yates was awarded membership in the US Army Legion of Merit, and France’s Legion of Honor.  He ended up a career military man, transferring to the newly formed Air Force in 1947. Through his career he held leadership and technological positions, working in both weather and rocket research. He also commanded Patrick Air Force Base, in Florida. He retired in 1961 as a Lieutenant General (3-star).

Stagg, the hero of this essay, was awarded membership in both the United States Legion of Merit, and in the Order of the British Empire.  After the war he served as a director in the British Meteorological Office, until his retirement in 1960.  He also was an elected a member of the prestigious Royal Society of Edinburgh, and president of the Royal Meteorological Society.

There were many heroes and personalities from the European Theater of WW2.  Some are obvious; they will never be forgotten.  Here’s to some lesser known heroes, including the Scotsman James Stagg and the American Donald Yates.

Wishing you health and happiness,

Joe Girard © 2020

[1] Army War College publication, by Michael Piellusch & Tom Galvin

Excellent resources:

Book: “The Forecast for D-Day”, by John Ross

And some good internet sites (there are so very many)

https://www.history.com/news/the-weather-forecast-that-saved-d-day

https://weather.com/news/news/2019-06-05-d-day-weather-forecast-changed-history

Some omitted but cool items:

From Krick to Petterson, many senior Allied weathermen later wrote disparagingly of Stagg. But not of Yates. Regardless, Stagg made the right calls, and the responsibility fell on his shoulders.

Guest Essay, History

Wesley Calhoun and the Panama Canal

 

                                                     by Milli Dersch Girard   ©2000

 

This past January 2000 my husband Don and I spent twelve hours traveling through  the Panama Canal on board the cruise ship  Sun Princess.  This piqued my interest in  the details of my cousin Wes Calhoun.

 

Orville Calhoun was one of my mother’s older brothers (she was one of thirteen).  He and his wife   – Lilly Corsby Calhoun – had three children.  The eldest was George Wesley, born October 9, l912.  Two sisters followed: Mildred in l914 and Elberta in l927. Their only son was always known as “Wes.”

Orville died in l930.  Wes enlisted in the U.S. Navy sometime before l932. He became a crew member on the BB Colorado (Battleship) in which he sailed in l932 or ’33 from San Diego CA around Cape Horn. He was privileged to go on liberty in many South American ports, and considered the best to be Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Earlier he sailed to China and southeast Asia. He was extremely proud of his permanent rank as Chief Boatswain’s Mate granted to him by an Act of Congress, which means it takes an Act of Congress to demote or “bust” him.  There were not too many of those appointments around.

In l934 Wes met and married Ruth Lebbin in Chicago. They subsequently had  two children, Patsy and Russell.

The Navy sent Wes to New Jersey  in ’37 or ’38 for “The Lighter than Air Service” in Lakehurst. Around l940 the USN was testing dirigibles to experiment with sea rescue. Wes was in that experimental sea rescue off the coast of New Jersey shown in newsreels at the local movie theaters. Radio and newspapers and the movie theaters were our only sources for the news in l940. We do not believe he was in Lakehurst for the Hindenburg disaster in May l937.

(My source for most of this detailed  information comes from Wesley’s brother-in-law Lavell Ferris, who was in Africa and Arabia serving in the U.S. Army  Air Force in l944. Earlier in Feb. l944 Lavell was on his way overseas when he met Wesley in Miami.  Wes was a Chief Warrant Officer at that time. Communication was difficult between the two therefore we’re a little fuzzy on some details of Wes’ whereabouts at all times.  Millie Calhoun Ferris, Wes’ sister and Lavell’s wife, passed on in l996.)

The U.S. Navy had provided well for this young little family – including during the Great Depression –and as WWII wound down Wesley decided to make the Navy his career. “He didn’t know what else to do.”

Sometime after serving in Miami in ’42 and ’43 Wes was sent to Panama, to the Canal Zone. Dirigibles were used all along the U.S coasts and near the canal for defense against submarine sabotage schemes.

US Coastal airships used to patrol during WWII

US Coastal airships used to patrol during WWII

As an officer Wesley’s duty did not entail checking the “bag” — the buoyant envelope filled with helium gas; however, he felt obligated to share the duties of his men periodically.  To do this safely you picked up a mask and then attached an oxygen bottle from the stack allowing you 30 minutes of safety inside the bag.  Although there was always supposed to be two in the danger area, Wesley went in alone; in any case, there was always an observer watching through a window.

Unfortunately the bottle he chose from the stock of oxygen bottles was nearly completely empty — poor Wes was asphyxiated! Evidently the last person to use it didn’t place it in the appropriate “Used” pile. Wesley was gone by the time the observers reached him! The date was December 2, l944.

Meanwhile at the same time that Wesley died in December of l944 other tragedies were taking place; the l06th Infantry was “nailed” down in Belgium. The Battle of the Bulge in Europe had the 101st Airborne hammered down at Bastogne where Patton had to go to their  rescue.  On Oct 12, l944 the Allies invaded the Philippines…so very many U.S. Servicemen were dying!

The Graves Registration Department — the people who take care of the name tags of the deceased — were overloaded and not able to notify Wesley’s wife Ruth promptly.  Compounding the tragedy were some of Wesley’s officers who, unaware of the overload at the Graves Department, began sending sympathy cards to Ruth.  It was some time before his Mom — my Aunt Lilly — and his sisters Millie and Elberta, and Wesley’s wife Ruth and their two children Patsy and Russell, were able to discover just what exactly had happened.

As Millie Calhoun Ferris’s husband Lavell, tells it,  “Somebody tossed the damn empty bottle down into the WRONG pile!” Someone’s fatal carelessness!

Not only was his immediate family proud of Wesley, so were his aunts, uncles and  cousins.

George Wesley Calhoun is buried in Arlington National Cemetery, Washington D.C.

 

Joe’s Notes:

Milli Girard, Joe’s mum, passed away in her sleep, in October, 2006. She is buried at Ft Logan, National Cemetery, alongside her husband of 51 years, Don Girard, Joe’s pop, who passed on in March, 2014.
Millie Ferris, my mum’s cousin, is also buried at Ft Logan, alongside Lavell, who passed away on Pearl Harbor Day, 2011.

In 1937, the USS Colorado (BB-45) assisted in the search for Amelia Earhart, in the Pacific.  We don’t have any tales of that either, so presumably Wes had left the deck before July, 1937 for his assignment in New Jersey.

WesleyGeoCalhoun-gombstone

Wes rests here, in Arlington, VA, in peace

Wes can be found in military records as Wesley G Calhoun.  http://www.mocavo.com/Wesley-G-Calhoun-Dec-02-44-Us-National-Archives-Gorgas-Hospital-Mortuary-Records-Index-1906-1991/17877024242333342095
Best I can tell, Wes was initially interred at the Corazal US Military Cemetery and Monument, near Panama City, Panama, on Dec 5, 1944.  Row 15, Grave 1. Records show an astonishing number of deaths there, at Gorgas Hospital in the CZ, during that time.  My guess is that many wounded from the Pacific theater were sent here and succumbed during treatment.
His final resting place is indeed at Arlington National Cemetery, Plot: Sec: 12, Site: 3845.