Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Pancho didn’t blink when Mack clenched his hands into fists.
He glared at her, fury radiating from every inch of him, obviously contemplating the satisfaction he would take from knocking her block off.
Behind them a flashbulb popped loudly, making him jump and snapping him out of his unreasoning rage. His eyes still furious, he arranged his mouth in a big fake smile and swiveled to bid a booming and excessively jovial welcome to the assembled reporters.
Pancho shook her head. Politicians had ice for hearts, that was for darned sure.
“Could you tell us what’s going on in the middle of the night that has all of you awake?” an eager reporter asked.
The journalists held their pens at the ready, eyes alight with anticipation.
Mack tucked his thumbs into his belt loops and took just a moment too long puffing up self-importantly, giving Amelia time to step forward and say, “It’s a matter of great importance.”
Mack’s eyebrows slammed together. He was clearly none too pleased that she’d stolen his thunder. “Now, now, my dear Lady Lindy,” he said in the same tone Pancho had used to soothe William as a cranky toddler. “Let’s not be overly dramatic.”
Pancho’s eyes narrowed. She would give him drama, all right.
She stepped forward to stand beside Amelia and, incidentally, partially in front of Mack.
She said succinctly, “We’ve discovered that the airstrip at Calexico is too short for the fourteen heavy-division planes in this race to land on safely. ”
The press immediately began to scribble notes on their open pads of paper.
“What are you going to do about it?” one of them asked.
Not to be outdone, Mack stepped forward, jostling Pancho into Amelia as he shoved past her. “We’re taking the situation under advisement,” he answered.
Pancho took another step forward, right to the edge of the stage, elbowing Mack aside. If he tried to get in front of her now, he would fall off the dais. And while there was a real risk he might just push her off, she’d love to see him do it in front of all these eagle-eyed reporters.
She declared, “All nineteen pilots have signed a petition to change the next stop back to Yuma, as we were told it would be at the time the race began. We presented it to Dr. L. W. Ayers earlier this evening since he’s the senior race official here in San Bernardino.
” She held up the signed petition and dozens of flashbulbs flashed.
Feeling a bit like the Statue of Liberty, she held the pose until the last flashbulb in the room popped.
“What did Dr. Ayers say?” someone called.
Mack did step up beside her then. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him take a deep breath that presaged a long, rambling nonanswer, and she cut him off hastily. “Dr. Ayers vowed to disqualify any pilot who doesn’t fly to and land at Calexico.”
The reporters all shouted at once, and she only caught snippets of what they were yelling.
“. . . just said it’s unsafe . . .”
“. . . happens when a plane goes off the end of the runway?”
“. . . you expect crashes?”
And then she heard the question she’d been waiting for.
“Do the race organizers know? Did you tell Dr. Ayers that fourteen of you can’t land there safely?”
“Now just a minute,” Mack growled. “There’s another side to this story.”
“What’s the counterargument to the runway being unsafe?” Will Rogers called out.
Pancho turned to look at Mack expectantly. Perspiration had started to form on his forehead. Good. It was high time he sweated a little.
Shy Phoebe Omlie surprised Pancho by stepping forward to say with a modest flutter of her eyelashes, “I landed at Calexico on my way to Clover Field. Mind you, my airplane is quite small compared to the larger planes in the race. I made a perfect landing in ideal conditions, and I barely managed to get my little plane stopped without going off the end of the runway. Thank goodness no one was parked there at the time.”
“Have you ever flown a Travel Air, Miss Omlie?” one of the San Bernardino reporters called out.
Pancho caught the tiny nod and smile Mack shot the guy, and then the smug smirk Mack sent her way.
Phoebe answered with calm and complete assurance, “Yes, I have. Many times. It’s my opinion as an experienced aviator that Calexico is too short for the heavy-engine planes in this race to land safely.”
The reporters stared back and forth between Phoebe and Mack in what Pancho read to be stunned disbelief.
Into the silence, Phoebe’s voice gained confidence.
“Calexico’s not just a little bit too short.
It’s way too short for heavy airplanes. Every single pilot in the larger-airplane class of this race that Dr. Ayers forces to land there is going to go off the end of the runway.
Every one of them. And I told Mr. Mack that, too—”
She broke off and seemed to collect herself.
When she spoke again, her forceful tone had dropped back to her usual diffident manner of speaking.
“I just couldn’t live with myself if I failed to share my insight with the rest of the competitors.
I don’t want to see any of my fellow pilots die tomorrow, and we certainly don’t want spectators to die. ”
“Are the rest of you afraid of crashing if you try to land at Calexico?”
Amelia flashed her charming smile. “Every pilot’s afraid of crashing. But more to the point, we’re certain—dead certain, if you’ll excuse the phrase—that every pilot in the heavy-engine division who tries to land tomorrow will crash.”
Marvel stepped forward and said, “We all saw the crowds here today. Imagine, gentlemen, if crowds like that are allowed to surround the Calexico runway. We just told you that airplanes are going to fail to stop by the end of the runway and will run off the end of it. And given how short the landing strip is, I’d wager the planes, or more to the point, their propellers, will plow into the crowd at fairly high speed. ”
A collective gasp rose from the reporters, and as one, their heads tipped down. Their pens scribbled frantically across their notepads.
Amelia said candidly, “It’ll be a disaster. You think it would be bad if several of us die tomorrow. How about when dozens or hundreds of spectators are chopped to bits in front of their loved ones?”
An even more appalled gasp went up.
Pancho sensed that the reporters were leaning hard enough toward the women’s side of the story for her to deliver the coup de grace.
She said matter-of-factly, “Dr. Ayers only made the decision an hour ago to force us to land at Calexico. Which means last-minute changes can, in fact, be made to our itinerary. Indeed, we are all accomplished pilots and fully capable of replanning our route of flight on short notice.”
She paused to gaze at the sea of reporters, doing her best to make earnest eye contact with as many of them as possible. Then she finished firmly, “We believe it is imperative for Dr. Ayers to change his mind.”
A moment of silence enveloped the ballroom. Even Mack seemed to be at a loss for words.
“How long a runway do you ladies need to safely land your larger planes?” someone finally shouted out from the back of the room.
Amelia replied immediately, “I landed a little long today, which can happen to any pilot for a variety of reasons. And I very nearly plowed into the crowd at the end of the runway. I managed to stop by a whisker.”
A few of the reporters nodded and commented that they’d seen it up close and she’d barely stopped in time.
“Personally,” Amelia continued, “I wouldn’t feel comfortable landing at any airfield with a runway shorter than San Bernardino’s.
And, to anticipate your next question, there are no other planned stops along our route whose runways are inadequate for our planes.
Calexico is the one glaring and inexplicable exception to that. Hence, our petition.”
The press erupted into questions, shouting to be heard over one another.
“Where is Dr. Ayers now?”
“What did you say when the women presented their concerns to you, Mayor Mack?”
Mack pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at his forehead, which was perspiring freely now. “Well, ah, of course safety is of concern to everyone . . . but let’s not be hasty . . . Are we really going to accede to the emotional whims and demands of a bunch of flighty young women—”
Will Rogers interrupted, “Do you have a pilot’s license, Mack?”
“Well, no.” Mack raised his hands, intent on making a comeback.
“After gaining firsthand experience in just how popular the Women’s Air Derby is, I understand why Calexico is so eager to host these women and introduce their home to the rest of the nation.
There would be scores of disappointed folks if the pilots don’t show up .
. . I’m sure the mayor is wide-awake, making sure everything is in place and ready for these fine women to visit his city tomorrow. ”
“Let’s call him right now,” Pancho exclaimed. “Let’s see how he feels about our airplanes plowing into dozens or hundreds of his residents when you and Ayers force us to fly into his wholly inadequate airport?”
She turned and offered the petition to Mack. Another round of flashes filled the room. He stared down at the petition as if it were a rattlesnake about to strike him.
Pancho continued to hold the sheet of paper out to him expectantly. She was not going to blink first in this game of chicken.
The seconds ticked by as Mack stared stubbornly at the petition. The reporters watching the exchange started to get restless. Murmurs rose from the journalists about how the women were obviously telling the truth if he wouldn’t even take the petition and share it with his counterpart in Calexico.
Mack looked up at her. Pancho couldn’t miss the wrath in his eyes, promising her retribution. Still, she held the petition out to him.
Another round of flashbulbs went off, and that was what broke him. He snatched the petition out of her hand.