Amelia Earhart

Hello there. My name is Amelia Earhart, and I am known for being a pilot who flew into the pages of history. My story isn’t just about airplanes, though; it’s about having an adventurous spirit and the courage to chase the horizon. I was born on a warm summer day, July 24, 1897, in a white house in Atchison, Kansas. The world was a very different place then, and girls were often expected to be quiet and proper. But my younger sister, Muriel, and I had other ideas. We preferred overalls to dresses and adventures to tea parties. We spent our days exploring the caves along the Missouri River, collecting insects and frogs, and even building our own roller coaster that we launched from the roof of our toolshed. It was a thrilling, bumpy ride that ended in a crash, but I came out of it with a smile and a torn dress. I first saw an airplane when I was ten years old at the Iowa State Fair in 1907. It wasn't love at first sight. To me, it looked like a flimsy thing made of 'rusty wire and wood.' I walked away without a second thought, completely unaware that a machine just like that would one day define my entire life and carry me toward my destiny.

My path to becoming a pilot truly began more than a decade later, in 1920. My family had moved to California, and one day my father took me to an airshow. For ten dollars, I took a ten-minute flight that changed everything. The moment the wheels left the ground and we soared into the air, I felt a sense of freedom I had never known. Looking down at the world below, I knew with absolute certainty that I belonged in the sky. I had to learn how to fly. Flight lessons were expensive, though, costing around $1,000—a huge sum of money back then. I was determined. I took on several jobs, working as a truck driver, a photographer, and a stenographer at a telephone company, saving every penny I could. Finally, I began my lessons with a female flight instructor named Neta Snook, one of the few in the world at that time. Soon after, in 1921, I bought my very own airplane. It was a used, two-seater biplane, and I painted it bright yellow. I nicknamed it 'The Canary,' and in that beautiful plane, I began to make my mark, setting my first record in 1922 for flying to an altitude of 14,000 feet, higher than any female pilot had gone before.

My name became known around the world in 1928 when I was asked to be the first woman to fly across the Atlantic Ocean. It was an incredible opportunity, but I want to be honest about it. On that flight, I was only a passenger. Two male pilots flew the plane, and my job was to keep the flight log. I felt more like cargo than a member of the crew, famously saying I was just a passenger, 'like a sack of potatoes.' The world celebrated me as a hero, but I knew I hadn't earned the title. That flight lit a fire in me; I was determined to make the same journey again, but this time, I would be the one at the controls. It took five years of planning and waiting for the right moment. Finally, on May 20, 1932, I took off from Newfoundland, Canada, all alone in my single-engine Lockheed Vega plane. The flight was incredibly dangerous. I flew through thick storms, my wings became coated with ice that threatened to pull me down, and my fuel gauge broke, leaving me guessing how much longer I could stay in the air. After nearly fifteen hours of battling the elements, I spotted land. I brought my plane down in a pasture in Northern Ireland, startling a herd of cows. I had done it. I was the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic.

That solo flight made me one of the most famous women in the world, and I realized I had a platform to do more than just fly. I wanted to show other women and girls that they could break barriers, too. I traveled the country giving speeches, encouraging them to pursue careers in science, engineering, and of course, aviation. I wrote books about my adventures and helped found an organization for female pilots called the Ninety-Nines. During this time, I also met and married a publisher named George Putnam in 1931. He was my partner in every sense of the word, helping me plan my flights and share my story with the world. But I always had my eyes on the next horizon, the next great challenge. By 1936, I was planning my most ambitious flight yet: to become the first woman to circumnavigate the globe. This would be a journey of 29,000 miles, following a route close to the equator. My partner for this adventure was an expert navigator named Fred Noonan. Our plane was a modern, twin-engine Lockheed Electra 10E, equipped with extra fuel tanks and the best technology of the day. In 1937, we set off, successfully flying across the United States, South America, Africa, and Asia, covering over 22,000 miles. The final and most difficult leg of our journey lay ahead: the vast, empty expanse of the Pacific Ocean.

Our final flight began on July 2, 1937. We took off from Lae, New Guinea, heading for a tiny speck of land in the middle of the ocean called Howland Island. It was a difficult flight that required precise navigation. During our final approach, we struggled to make radio contact with the U.S. Coast Guard cutter stationed there to guide us in. My last transmissions sounded worried as I reported that we were running low on fuel and couldn't see the island. Then, the radio went silent. An enormous search and rescue mission was launched, the largest in naval history at the time, but my plane, my navigator Fred, and I were never found. Our disappearance became one of the world's greatest mysteries. It's a sad ending to my story, but I ask you not to remember me for how my life ended. Instead, I hope you remember me for how I lived. My true legacy isn't the mystery; it's the spirit of adventure I tried to embody. I hope my story inspires you to look toward your own horizons, to push past your fears, and to have the courage to fly toward your dreams, no matter how distant they may seem.