AE on Norwich Island Part 12

Amelia Earhart on Norwich Island

Part 12

July 12^th, 1937

Platform Camp has many advantages. The platform itself, on which I have pitched my hammock slung between two small trees, provides enough elevation that I get some breeze, despite being in the lee of the “high” part of the island.

Which can’t be more than 15 or 20 feet in elevation above sea level, though of course the trees go higher.

The platform also gives me a nice view of the ocean beyond the reef, and the wreck of the Norwich, which dominates the scene. There is a good deal of firewood in the form of drift timber and wreckage from the Norwich. Lots of fish around the wreck, and quite a few boobies under the bushes on the shore.

She put down the pencil, scanned the horizon. Nothing.

She felt sluggish, lethargic. She had thought to be safely back in California before having to deal with a period. It wouldn’t have interfered with anything – she grimaced, thinking of the men who confidently assured each other that menstruation would incapacitate a female pilot – but it was inconvenient. And messy. Luckily she had packed some Kotex pads and a belt just in case, and was making good use of them now. And it was passing, she thought.

The period, too, might account for last night’s troubled dreams. Especially…

“Oh God, Fred!”

Fred, standing at the foot of her hammock, reaching out to her with hands that dripped blood and crabs. His face torn up, his eyeball hanging. Making no sound but somehow entreating, accusing.

She rubbed her face with both hands. Sure, the period complicated her emotions, but there were plenty of objective reasons for bad dreams about Fred.

“I devoutly hope I never again have to…”

But it was more than just her forced participation in his chaotic demise. There was the other thing – that just wouldn’t go away.

“Damn it! I couldn’t have done it without a navigator!”

Well, that might not be true, but it would have been awfully risky, and G.P….

“G.P. would’ve cast a kitten. So would Gene, and…”

And all her advisors. Male advisors.

To some of whom, if she had only paid more attention… No, put that away; no use pursuing that.

The women – well, no one had said not to have a navigator, and while she had certainly contemplated going it alone, Mother and Pidge would have worried themselves to death…

“No, I needed a navigator. But it didn’t have to be Fred.”

But he had been so insistent, in his quiet way. So needful, after his falling-out with Pan Am, the collapse of his first marriage. With his hopes for a new life with Bea, his plans for the navigation school. And he had every imaginable qualification.

“Except Morse Code, and maybe – who knows?”

No, damn it, it wasn’t his fault. And, damn it, it wasn’t hers either.

But just stamping on her feelings wasn’t keeping them down.

She got up from the base of the tree where she had been leaning – the biggest one growing out of the platform, and the one to which she had tethered the head end of her hammock. Stretched, kicked her legs to head off an incipient cramp. Slid down the solid coral-slab face of the platform and walked out toward the beach. Contemplated the cloudless sky, the soaring birds – all on important missions, no doubt, but what? To her left and right, closer to the shore, were two booby nests, a big black and white white bird on each. The closer one, only about 20 feet away, was as usual looking at her alertly. She settled on the beach with her back against a driftwood log.

“Boobies. Why do we call you boobies?” The bird didn’t’ answer.

“You seem quite smart, really. Very advanced, in the way you share duties. Male sits on the eggs while female fishes; female sits on eggs while male fishes…”

The booby – a female, she was pretty sure – cocked her head as though listening.

“If you were human, you poor thing, you’d spend your whole life getting soft and flabby squatting on eggs, while your man was out fishing with the boys and getting juiced. You are truly an advanced species!”

The booby poked her beak under her breast, checked her eggs, rearranged herself on the nest and returned her steady gaze to Amelia’s face.

“So probably, some sailor – a man, of course – observed your behavior and said ‘Blimey, that’s booby!’ Or words to that effect.”

Good story. Definitely useful in lectures.

“On the island where I was cast away there were birds that men call boobies. Let me tell you a little about their division of labor…”

She awoke – it hadn’t been long, to judge by the sun – when a crab nipped her. She tossed crabs in all directions, readjusted her stiff torso, worked out another cramp. The booby was still looking at her, head cocked to one side. Looking wise, interested.

“So I can’t call you that. Won’t call you that. Others, maybe, but not you. Hmm…”

The bird remained silent.

“In that white coat, you’re surely a scientist, or a doctor. Ornithologist?”

The bird looked at her with level eyes.

“No, I think not; you’re examining me, not yourself. Psychiatrist?”

The bird ducked its head, returned to its stare into Amelia’s face.

“Of course! My psychiatric advisor! Thank you for seeing me, Dr….. hmm.”

All the psychiatrists she could think of were male.

“Not Freud, certainly; obsessed with…”

She thought the bird gently shook her head.

“Maybe a psychologist…. But you don’t look a thing like Lillian.”

“And our setting’s hardly industrial. Much more exotic…”

“So – a Jungian? Dr….

The bird stretched up its neck, looked her steadily in the eye. Amelia smiled.

“Dr. Karla, I presume?”

Did the bird nod? Of course she did! Amelia rubbed her face, lifted herself and re-settled on the ground. OK, time to talk this out.

“So, Dr. Karla, it’s about my navigator, Captain Noonan…”

No, the bird didn’t really raise an eyebrow, but – suddenly she was sobbing into her hands, flinging herself around to lie facedown on the coral, heedless of how it hurt her face and fingers.

“All right, it’s about me, or us, or – oh, why did it have to happen?”

The sobs subsided, the shaking in her chest slowed. She rolled over to look at the bird, who looked at her solemnly. Lay back to look at the clouds sailing by overhead, the circling birds.

“If I hadn’t tried to move the ship after we landed…”

“Yes, I told him to hang on – I think.”

“Besides, he knew.”

Rolling over, sobbing again: “I treated him – his head – as best I could!”

Rolling back, eyes on the sky. Yes, she had done what she could. Moving the plane had made sense; she had warned him to hang on; she had dealt with his injuries to the extent she knew how, and was equipped to.

But before! Why hadn’t they gotten more rest in Lae? Because – she was anxious to finish, and – well, she didn’t think…  Or did she?

And why had she skipped out on Harry? Spurned his expertise?

Questions within questions; questions circulating around questions. She could only let them swirl, gradually calm down. The bird sat in silence, head cocked, looking at her. She finally smiled wryly.

“I guess… what you’re saying, Doctor Karla – or implying and letting me work out in your proper psychological fashion – is that what’s done is done, and there’s no use speculating about why it’s happened, or what we could have, should have, done differently.”

Dr. Karla remained silent. Amelia looked past her, out to sea. The sun was bright on the water. It hurt her eyes. The horizon was empty.

“Not very satisfying.”

But what was she looking for? Some mechanical solution? Some way to make everything right? Or just something to tell Bea, to tell the public?

“To tell myself…”

The bird closed her eyes, tucked her beak under her wing and seemed to go to sleep. Wearily, Amelia followed suit.

When she awoke, surprisingly refreshed, Dr. Karla was gone; her mate had assumed egg-sitting duty. Amelia smiled at him.

“Congratulations, Mr. Karla. Your wife is wise and talented, and so are you for recognizing her equality with you.”

Not to say superiority. No, no need to go that far. Though of course it was true.

July 14^th, 1937

Evening. Long rollers coming in, red-gold in the setting sun. Great piles of dark cloud along the horizon.  No lights, other than the brilliant flashes as waves caught sunlight. No steady lights, ship lights.

I watched the harbor lights. They only told me we were parting…

No, that wouldn’t bring them. She sat on the beach with arms around knees, the cool evening breeze lifting her lengthening, curls. Her forelock was getting limp. Her cramps were gone.

The crabs hadn’t found her yet. Soon, though, it would be time to return to the platform, to her hammock. She had eaten a good supper – fish, mixed greens in the form of leaves from various trees and bushes, water.

“Comfortable enough.”

But restless. On her feet, down toward the water, looking out to sea. As usual, the sun dropped abruptly into the cloudbank along the horizon, and soon it was full dark. The usual soft evening wind, the usual sounds of birds returning to their roosts in the treetops behind her, settling down for the night. Flickers of firelight from her camp, when she turned around briefly to make sure she could find her way back.

She walked toward the ocean, feeling the despair gathering around her. Letting it.

“Oh, damn. Fred, Fred.”

Yes, he’d wanted to come. Yes, she hadn’t been responsible for his hurting his head. Yes, she’d done everything she knew to keep him alive. But…

“But he wouldn’t have been here if it hadn’t been for me, and I…”

Around and around and around. But – her footsteps were taking her ever closer to the waves. She could just keep walking.

“And why? Because I wanted to. For the fun of it. Oh damn, Amelia!”

Closer to the sea. Gravelly sand getting firm, wet under her bare feet. Yes, she could just keep on…

“Oh, god.  Mommy, Pidge…”

She had been so bossy, so controlling. “I forbid you to be responsible for the brats,” and don’t let Pidge dress them this way or that. Don’t give Pidge any money ‘cause she’ll give it to Albert. Sure, it was her money, but…

“Who the hell did I think I was?”

She stumbled, dragged a foot through the sand. It sparkled! Little flashes of bluish fire in all directions.

“What the…?”

Some kind of phosphorescence, luminescence. What had she heard, read about that…?

“Algae? But – oh, how pretty!”

She scuffed both feet through the sand. Sparks flew. A few waltz steps, dragging her feet a bit. Magical! Took a few more; the sand was alight all around her!

Imagined herself with a partner – GP? Gene – oh, Gene! Prince Edward…

When they begin the Beguine –

It brings back the sound, of music so tender…

She swirled, swayed, danced. Sang aloud, in the breeze, to the birds and the sea.

It brings back a night of tropical splendor

Clouds of luminescence flew out from her feet.

It brings back a memory ever green.

Memories. Dancing. Dancing partners. The pure feel of rhythm, fluid movement, being at one with music…

I'm with you once more under the stars
And down by the shore an orchestra's playing
And even the palms seem to be swaying
When they begin the Beguine…

Singing softly, she let her dancing, sparkling feet lead her far down the beach, then turned and danced back. New tune, new dance – swing. New beat, new imagined partner…

“Well, Toot…” She smiled. Lucy Challis – somewhere, surely – smiled back. She could almost hear the trumpet.

No one to talk with.

All by myself.

No one to walk with.
But I'm happy on the shelf
Ain't misbehavin'
I'm savin' my love for you.

Intricate steps, but her own. Loose, relaxed.

Like Jack Horner,

In his corner,

Don’t go nowhere,

What do I care…

“What do I care?”

She stopped, facing the dark sea and sky, sprinkled with stars, slashed by the Milky Way.

Carefree.

Careless.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t been warned. Paul had warned her. Joe had warned her. Jackie had warned her.

I don’t stay out late.

Nowhere to go.

I’m home about eight,

Just me and my…

“Radio…”

The moon was rising. Out to sea, the swells sparkled. Stars filled the heavens. She threw out her arms.

“Oh damn, Toot! What have I done?”

-----------------------

Notes

“…he had been so insistent, … So needful…” In the months before the World Flight, Noonan had left his job with Pan American and his first marriage had collapsed. Between the first and second World Flight attempts he remarried, and he may have been planning to organize a navigation school. That he was insistent and needful, however, are things I don’t know but guess to have been the case. See https://tighar.org/Projects/Earhart/Archives/Research/ResearchPapers/Noonan.html for a biography of Noonan.

“Lillian.” Earhart’s friend, industrial psychologist Lillian Gilbreth; see East to the Dawn p. 273

“So – a Jungian?” It is only my speculation that AE would have known much about Jung, whose Wirklichkeit der Seele (Reality of the Soul), was published in 1934, and who lectured at Yale in 1937 (See http://www.carl-jung.net/timeline.html).

July 14^th, 1937

“I watched the harbor lights…” “Harbor Lights” was a Billboard top single in 1937; see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harbor_Lights.

“I forbid you to be responsible for the brats,” etc. AE could be quite domineering in correspondence with her mother, and at least indirectly with her sister, particularly after she began providing both with financial support. And she seems fairly commonly – and perhaps fondly – to have referred to Muriel’s two children as “the brats.” See for example Sound of Wings, p. 201.

“Little flashes of bluish fire in all directions.” The sands of Nikumaroro often exhibit a great deal of bioluminescence (c.f. http://www.sciencebuddies.org/blog/2012/04/the-wonder-of-bioluminescence-organisms-that-glow.php). TIGHAR collegeagues Lonnie Schorer, John Clauss, Gary Quigg and I had the pleasure of experiencing the phenomenon during an overnight stay in 1997.

“Prince Edward.”  Prince Edward of Wales, later King Edward XIII and (after abdicating) Duke of Windsor, was AE’s dancing partner during celebrations following her solo Atlantic crossing (See Sound of Wings p. 187.)

“Begin the Beguine.” This Cole Porter dance tune was written in 1935 and performed in New York in 1936, although it didn’t gain great popularity until 1938 (See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Begin_the_Beguine). I have no idea whether AE danced to it.

“Well, Toot…” “Toot” (sometimes rendered as “Toots” or “Tootie”) was AE’s pet name for her cousin Lucy Challis, with whom she shared youthful and adult adventures. See for instance Courage is the Price p. 61; Courageous Sister pp 24-5; Sound of Wings p. 175.

“Ain’t Misbehavin’…” This 1929 swing tune included a trumpet solo that made Louis Armstrong famous (See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ain%27t_Misbehavin%27_(song)).

”Paul had warned her. Joe had warned her. Jackie had warned her.” “After she described the Luke Field takeoff crash to Jackie and her houseguests at the ranch, Amelia said, ‘Aren’t you going to ask me, ‘are you going to try it again?’’ Jackie replied, ‘I hope you don’t.’ She believed Amelia too physically frail to make the trip and expressed grave concerns about the navigation. As Jackie recalled, ‘I told her she wasn’t going to see that damned island (Howland).’ She warned Amelia, ‘I wish you wouldn’t go off and commit suicide because that’s exactly what you’re going to do.’” Turbulent Life, pp. 192-3