by Nancy Nahra
The fact that she could write was a bonus. The Times, which had offered her $10,000 for the exclusive rights to her story even if she couldn’t keep the money, printed it under the headline, “Miss Earhart Foresees Planes de Luxe Due to Women’s Interest in Aviation.” The story itself, cabled from London before her return ship sailed, showed both Earhart’s flair for writing and her humility:
A swift flight from Burry Port, South Wales, this morning – in which we just scudded over the tops of the beautiful Devonshire hills at 100 to 120 miles an hour – then Bill, Slim and I were in Southampton. There was a gorgeous reception there with cheering crowds and a kind speech of welcome by the Lord Mayor, who strangely enough is addressed as “Mister Mayor,” although a woman. Then a ride in a big limousine to London.
But it is not this wonderful, kindly reception I am thinking of tonight as the experiences of the past two days begin to sort themselves out in my mind. It is just what this flight means – what it amounts to – first to aviation in general, then to other women and finally to myself personally. . . . Navigating practically all the way “blind” – that is, by instruments only – and almost always just with the magnetic compass and drift indicator, Stultz was not a mile off the course when we passed over Valentia and Queenstown and alighted on the South Wales Coast after more than 2,000 miles of flying. . . .
Perhaps some people have been thinking this was just another stunt flight, but it was not. We have come to a place in aviation where the need is for technical advancement more than spectacular stunts.
The flight of the Friendship is intended to point the road toward the seaplane . . . and multiple-engined planes. . . .
Now, whether the flight means anything to women, it is perhaps more difficult to say. It was a marvelous experience for one woman who was merely so much baggage for two great aviators, but it was awfully uncomfortable. If it helps to quicken the interest of women in flying, it will help forward the time when flying will be more comfortable, because women will demand planes not only comfortable but luxurious, and when women demand them men probably will build them. . . .
For Amelia Earhart, the attention accompanying her success took over, and now she saw it as an asset. Every decision was made with an eye to keeping her focus exclusively on aviation. Her Avro Avian arrived by sea from Britain. Meanwhile, she broke off her long-ignored engagement to Sam Chapman. So seldom were the couple in the same place at the same time that Earhart had to write him a letter ending their engagement.
The man she now saw most often was George Putnam, the publisher who was showing a lively interest in her career. Putnam, like most people Earhart had met before the Friendship flight, was both surprised and charmed on meeting her. Knowing her only as a woman who liked to wear trousers and repair engines, people expected her to be the stereotypical strong woman with a take-charge personality. As Putnam stepped in to guide her career, he may have been a surprise to her, too. Earhart may not have fully grasped what his interference would mean.
A talented publicist, Putnam may well have thought he could describe Amelia Earhart objectively and still make readers curious about her. In an interview shortly after Friendship left Boston, he had suggested to newspaper readers that a book about her transatlantic flight might be forthcoming. Clearly, he had studied her and knew her how she thought: “She might consider writing or a short and carefully selected lecture tour, but I know that she would not give a moment’s consideration to anything of a theatrical nature. . . . Indeed she thinks right now that when the flight is over, she is going back to Denison House settlement far from crowds, forgotten. She won’t be able to, of course, we all know that. But she honestly thinks that no one will pay any attention to her after it is over. She is an extraordinary girl. She has captivated all who met her.”
Inevitably, George Putnam and Amelia Earhart would see one another with regularity. And had anyone been looking - and some of their friends were - they would have detected an attraction in the making.
It was Putnam who encouraged Earhart to write, to fly, and to pursue whatever made her happy. When the two first met, Putnam was married and Earhart was engaged. Now she was free, and he was on his way to a divorce. She kept manufacturing more reasons to see him. In September 1928, she finished writing her book, 20 Hrs. 40 Min., for Putnam’s publishing company.
Writing Her Reputation
Managing Amelia Earhart’s reputation proved to be full-time work for Putnam, who had already begun his own career as a publicist. She was now, not just in America but the world over, and her achievements were extraordinary. But, to a great extent, Earhart deserves credit for her own renown, in part, because of her ability as a writer.
Earhart’s personal character added to her literary assets: Entirely unpretentious, she knew how to speak clearly and from the heart without trying to sound impressive. Then there was her sensitivity. As an adolescent, all those family secrets she had to guard now made her a sensitive witness, noticing far more than she talked about. Years later, her friends said, her success as a writer drew from those quiet years.
She could and did write for anyone, and she was willing to address any group. Questions from journalists often evoked quick and intelligent replies, with a sprinkling of her distinctive wit. Her letters to close friends and family were marked by flashes of insight.
By the Way, Another Record
Trying out her new plane, Earhart flew to Los Angeles with no passengers on board and in no particular hurry. She stopped here and there along the way, staying just long enough in L.A. for a visit with her father. Then she got back in her plane and flew to New York, collecting another record as the first woman to fly a solo round-trip across the continent.
Back in New York, Putnam had her next move all planned out. Seeing how energetic Earhart was, he set up a speaking tour that demanded that she visit as many as twenty-seven cities in a single month.
Late in 1928, Earhart flew to Boston for a meeting of Zonta, a woman’s club, to help raise money for the Denison House. Now that she was famous, it was news when she told reporters that she was “no longer engaged to marry. You never can tell what I will do. If I was sure of the man, I might get married tomorrow. I am very sudden, you know, and make up my mind in a second.”
Earhart might have claimed that her work precluded a social life, and in a narrow sense that was true. Though she never lacked for company, her life had become public, partly thanks to her achievements but also, as it became more and more evident, the efforts of Putnam. By now acting as her manager, he wanted Earhart’s reputation continue to grow. So he made sure to keep her in the public eye from the minute she returned from the Friendship flight.
Too Easy to Try For
Sometimes Earhart needed no prodding to claim attention for herself, but when she saw any hint of condescension toward women pilots, she was unstoppable. In 1929, the National Aeronautical Association in Washington heard from her – again and again.
In a proposed race from Los Angeles to Cleveland, well-meaning planners decided that women deserved special accommodations. It was suggested that women take men as navigators or the starting point could be moved to the eastern side of the Rockies, since it would be too difficult for a woman to fly over the mountains. Earhart had heard from women pilots in California that film star Bebe Daniels had entered the race. That alarmed women who flew; if men were to navigate, then every actress in Hollywood might claim to be a pilot and show up for the race.
Speaking for other women pilots, Earhart declared in a telegram to Washington: “None of us will enter [the race] unless it is going to be a real sporting contest.” The planners backed down.
Aviation was increasingly capturing the public’s attention. Reports on flying demonstrations started appearing in the news. In April of 1930, newspaper articles described a mock naval battle. Sixty-nine planes staged a three-hour attack on an aircraft carrier off the Virginia coast. One plane took off from the carrier every ten seconds, flew in formation, then pret
ended to attack the mother-ship, which responded by pretending to defend itself with anti-aircraft guns. Naval aviation “bared its fighting teeth” that day, proclaimed one article.
Naturally, advance publicity for the 1930 New York Air Show at Madison Square Garden made it sound like a must-see event. Not only would it offer “the largest gathering of transport airplanes ever placed under one roof” – a total of only six planes – there would also be famous people. Readers learned that the show, “. . . will bring out such fliers as Clarence D. Chamberlin, Miss Amelia Earhart, and Frank Hawks.”
Just weeks later, an advertisement in The New York Times reminded the public that May 20, 1930 marked the third anniversary of Charles Lindbergh’s record-breaking flight. The paper praised itself as being “foremost in aviation news.” To justify the distinction it was claiming, the ad noted that it had printed: “. . . the personal narratives of more famous aviators on momentous flights than any other newspaper – Byrd, Wilkins (Point Barrow to Spitzbergen), Fitzmaurice, Chamberlin, Amelia Earhart and others.”
Help Mate as Marriage Mate
Busy as Putnam kept her, Earhart soon began to notice that he came close to her idea of a husband. They were constantly in each other’s company, but their dealings mainly centered on her work and his promotion of her books, her lectures, her opportunities, and her connections. He helped her bring out her first book, and then knew he wanted another. As a publisher, he recognized good writing, but, as a promoter, he could also recognize a natural, a crowd pleaser, a show woman who instinctively connected with other people. George Putnam knew better than anyone that Amelia Earhart had all those qualities.
Family Ties
Early in their business dealings, Putnam knew little about Earhart’s private life, especially her relationship with her parents. Few people did. Well aware of her mother’s inability to support herself, Earhart provided for her. Their letters show Earhart’s concern about her mother in case a plane crash might end their arrangement. A letter written early in 1930 records Earhart’s announcement to Amy that the $100 check she was sending was only the first of what would be regular monthly payments from the Fifth Avenue Bank. The letter then specifies that all Earhart’s earnings had been put into stocks and bonds, with the annual interest and dividends distributed in Amy’s name. In passing, she noted that she had taken out accident insurance on herself with Amy as the beneficiary, “in case I pop off.”
As for Earhart’s father, living in California at the time, she soon learned of his worsening health. When he mentioned needing an operation to remove an obstruction in his esophagus, she volunteered to pay his medical expenses. She decided that her father needed her closer, writing to her mother, “Am heading West and will see him there.”
Not long after that, Amy Earhart got the sad news that Edwin’s health was worsening in another letter from Amelia, who reported that near the end of her visit he had been asking about Amy and Amelia’s sister “Pidge.” She also confessed to her mother, “I faked telegrams for him from you all.” Earhart, like others around Edwin, thought he was getting better when she left California; but, hours after her departure, she received word of his death. To her mother, she wrote, “He was an aristocrat as he went – all the weaknesses gone with a little boy’s brown puzzled eyes.”
Work As a Remedy
Disoriented by grief but trying not to let it show, Earhart counted on hard work to absorb her, to distract her from her sadness, as it always had. Now luck brought her the all-consuming project that she needed: an invitation to help build an airline.
Few pilots had more experience than Earhart when it came to preparing for long flights. Now she was joining a few other experts, all men, to create an airline that would make a profit, a feat no existing airline company had accomplished.
The backers were two wealthy Philadelphians, the Ludington brothers, Charles and Nicholas, eager to use their capital and Earhart’s know-how. Also on the team: Paul Collins and Gene Gore, a pilot and enthusiastic believer in aviation.
At this early stage in American aviation, any start-up company had to figure out what to do for infrastructure since there was none. New airlines would have to invent and develop the look and function of airports as places to welcome and assist passengers. For the new company, called NYPWA (New York, Philadelphia and Washington Airways), for instance, travelers bought their tickets at train stations belonging to the Pennsylvania Railroad. Once they had tickets, travelers waited at the train station to be picked up and driven to the airfield.
Year after year, startup airlines continued to lose money. Gradually they noticed that they needed to offer flights at times that travelers found convenient. Then they figured out a powerful guiding principle: Making money required filling every seat on every plane, but flying still made many people nervous.
Businesspeople sometimes took flights, but airlines needed to look beyond business customers, and airline executives hit upon a practical solution: They would convince women to try flying, and, naturally, that effort would have to include Amelia Earhart.
Her executive title was vice president. Other team members had that rank, too, each with a defined focus. Earhart’s role put her in charge of customer service: She was supposed to attract happy customers and deal with unhappy ones. Airline passengers tended to fall into two groups: people who did not know enough about flying and people who knew too much. Many “while knuckled” flyers sat next to former military pilots.
“An Attractive Cage”
Though willing to admit that he was smitten by Earhart, Putnam never stopped being a publicist. He advised her on which invitations to accept, where she should make an appearance, and how to dress and present herself. When it was time for her to smile for the cameras, Putnam warned her to keep her lips together because her spontaneous grin showed the wide space between her two front teeth. It was a feature that compromised the look he was promoting. Almost without exception, Earhart sealed her smile after having been reminded numerous times.
Though the growing attraction was mutual, Earhart was reluctant to marry. When Putnam proposed marriage in late fall 1930, he knew about Earhart’s hesitation to marry. He had already asked her five times. This time, though, she accepted, but still had some misgivings. Earhart feared that Putnam might have ideas about marriage that differed from her own. In 1931, almost on the eve of their wedding, she wrote Putnam a letter spelling out certain topics they had never talked about:
. . .You must know again my reluctance to marry, my feeling that I shatter thereby chances in work which means so much to me. Feel the move just now as foolish as anything I could do. I know there may be compensations, but have no heart to look ahead. In our life together I shall not hold you to any midaevil [sic] code of faithfulness to me, nor shall I consider myself bound to you similarly. If we can be honest I think the difficulties which arise may be best avoided.
Please let us not interfere with the other’s work or play, nor let the world see our private joys or disagreements. In this connection I may have to keep some place where I can go to be myself now and then, for I cannot guarantee to endure at all the confinements of even an attractive cage.
Realizing that Putnam might have trouble accepting a marriage so unlike his own experience, Earhart added a thoughtful yet shocking way out of a future impasse. “I must exact a cruel promise, and that is you will let me go in a year if we find no happiness together. I will try to do my best. . . .”
Considering social attitudes at the time, it is astonishing to think that this unusual couple made their plan work.
Famous as Amelia was, their almost secret wedding was a masterstroke of privacy. In November 1930, Earhart publicly denied one story about their marriage. Three months later, they were married without fanfare – no church, no music, no flowers, no guests. Putnam’s mother was on hand, since they exchanged vows at her house. The ceremony, Earhart wrote, “consumed but five minutes.” Besides Putnam’s mother, there were: “Charles Faulkner, his uncl
e; Robert Anderson, the judge’s son, and twin black cats.” No photographers were on hand, and that was exactly how she wanted it.
According to a news story, written after the fact: “Bride and bridegroom . . . were extremely happy but undemonstrative, Mrs. Putnam said.” The story also pointed out that Amelia Earhart would keep her own name. As to a bridal gown, “Brown shoes and stockings were worn by Miss Earhart in addition to her brown traveling suit. Brown, it seems, is her favorite color.” With so little to report, the story noted that “Both will be at their desks in New York, on Monday morning. . . .”
Although Earhart kept her name, The New York Times occasionally referred to her as “Mrs. George Putnam,” which she always found funny, and Putnam, being a good sport, understood why some people politely addressed him as “Mr. Earhart.” They never had a honeymoon; neither of them was able to take time off.
People who knew them well understood that tact and sensitivity explained the low-key wedding. Putnam had already been married and had two sons. George Palmer Putnam, Jr. was nine years old, and his older brother, David Binney Putnam, was attending in prep school in Cheshire, Connecticut.
Their mother had already remarried in the West Indies in January 1930. In the course of divorcing her, Putnam provided for her welfare and had set up a trust fund for his children. Putnam’s generosity in the settlement with his ex-wife was important to Earhart; her refusal to have a splashy wedding came from the sense of fairness she shared with Putnam.
