Musings on an Unmarked Grave
According to a fairly sound investigation by the history channel she lies under a large volume of sand off the runway of LAX. A P-51 mustang that was loaded with fuel and its female Woman's Air Service Pilot entombed forever in the sands of Santa Monica Bay. The throb of pistons long ago replaced by the roar of jets. Round sounds from departing airplanes belong only in the memory of those who once were there. My how the world has changed. The once great Pacific is now what the Atlantic was in the 1960s. LA to Singapore a flight once that required several fuel stops is now done in a single leap. When she took off on her ill fated flight the Pacific was hopped at its base through a long series of islands, Honolulu, Midway, Wake, Guam, the Philippians and finally mainland Asia. Jet engines developed in secret now are common. The strange rescue concept has now become a source for news reporting,rescue,scenic flights and short range corperate travel. When she took off Nadi Fiji was a stop required onto the way down under, Townsville was a hustling base. When she took off she considered a bit odd. Now a 747-400 leaping to the land down under with a female in the left seat handling the throttles with nail polish is no more surprising then a female in the boxing ring. She was a ferry pilot flying a Mustang now women mount Hornets, Eagles, Vikings, and Stratofotresses to inflict the terror that shook the United States on those who shook it. Over her grave unmarked beneath sand and surf airliners some of them Captained my gals parade every day.