pointed it at Lou.
‘Sir,’ he yelped. ‘Step away and raise your hands.’
Lou did not react.
The guard took another step forward. ‘Step away and raise your hands.’ They could all hear the guard prime the gun.
‘Lou!’ Kate screamed.
He stepped back and raised his hands.
13
Smithsonian Institute, Washington DC. 25 March 1937.
It was a rare occasion for Amelia Earhart . . . she was wearing a cocktail dress.
‘Gosh, I feel so damned awkward in this thing,’ she remarked, accepting a glass of champagne from her husband, George Putnam, who stood at the doorway beside a man holding a tray of
drinks.
‘Feel happier in the old leather jacket and pants, Amelia?’
‘Sure would.’ She surveyed the crowded main hall of the Smithsonian Castle building on the National Mall. ‘I don’t know more than one per cent of these people,’ she
added in a low voice.
‘The great and the good, darling. And if the truth be told, ninety-nine per cent of them are not worth knowing!’
Amelia laughed and shook her head. ‘You are pure evil, Georgie.’
They stepped into the room and heads turned as applause grew. Amelia smiled and felt George squeeze her hand. The band in the far corner struck up with ‘Dixie’. George let go of her
hand and walked over to a small group of men. Amelia turned to see the First Lady, Eleanor Roosevelt, looking stately in a grey silk dress, her brown hair in two whirls at her temples. She was
smiling at her and clapping decorously.
‘Well you do scrub up nicely, my dear,’ she said.
‘I feel ridiculous!’ Amelia kissed her old friend on the cheek and the two women hugged.
‘It’s a splendid turn-out.’
Earhart nodded and took a sip of champagne as she cast her eyes around the gathering. She leaned in to Eleanor’s ear. ‘I just hope they’re all in a generous mood.’
A tall man in a dinner jacket approached and gave a slight bow to the two women. ‘We are ready when you are, Mrs Roosevelt.’
Amelia took a deep breath. ‘Well, time and tide and all that.’ She gave Eleanor Roosevelt a nervous look.
‘Between us we’ll knock ’em dead.’ The First Lady squeezed Amelia’s elbow.
Eleanor led the way across the room, parting the throng as she went. The band was still playing, a more modern tune now; Amelia recognized it, one of her current favourites, Benny
Goodman’s ‘Stompin’ at the Savoy’. The gathered wealthy of Washington and New York seemed relaxed, lubricated with free-flowing champagne.
The two women reached a podium at one end of the room and the music faded to nothing. Amelia could hear the hubbub of conversation dwindle to silence. She stood to one side of a wooden lectern
and the First Lady walked calmly up to the microphone; it squeaked as she approached. Pausing, she surveyed the hundreds of faces: politicians, business moguls and patrons of the arts and sciences
accompanied by their bejewelled wives.
‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ She had a rather frail, high-pitched voice, but years of experience as the wife of the 32nd president had imbued her with confidence. ‘It was with
enormous pleasure that I accepted the invitation to be here this evening, in this magnificent setting; and it too is an honour to introduce to you one of the greatest women alive today. This lady
is not only a cherished friend of mine and my husband’s, but as you will all know, she is one of this country’s most respected ambassadors, renowned throughout the world for her
pioneering achievements as an aviator, a woman dedicated to pushing back the boundaries of what is possible. To me, it seems unimaginable that anyone could climb into a machine and fly across
oceans and continents, but my friend here does it before breakfast. She needs no further introduction. I give you Amelia Earhart.’
Eleanor Roosevelt stepped down as Amelia took the podium to warm applause.
‘Well, my goodness!’ she began and turned to the First Lady seated at the side of the dais.
‘Sir,’ he yelped. ‘Step away and raise your hands.’
Lou did not react.
The guard took another step forward. ‘Step away and raise your hands.’ They could all hear the guard prime the gun.
‘Lou!’ Kate screamed.
He stepped back and raised his hands.
13
Smithsonian Institute, Washington DC. 25 March 1937.
It was a rare occasion for Amelia Earhart . . . she was wearing a cocktail dress.
‘Gosh, I feel so damned awkward in this thing,’ she remarked, accepting a glass of champagne from her husband, George Putnam, who stood at the doorway beside a man holding a tray of
drinks.
‘Feel happier in the old leather jacket and pants, Amelia?’
‘Sure would.’ She surveyed the crowded main hall of the Smithsonian Castle building on the National Mall. ‘I don’t know more than one per cent of these people,’ she
added in a low voice.
‘The great and the good, darling. And if the truth be told, ninety-nine per cent of them are not worth knowing!’
Amelia laughed and shook her head. ‘You are pure evil, Georgie.’
They stepped into the room and heads turned as applause grew. Amelia smiled and felt George squeeze her hand. The band in the far corner struck up with ‘Dixie’. George let go of her
hand and walked over to a small group of men. Amelia turned to see the First Lady, Eleanor Roosevelt, looking stately in a grey silk dress, her brown hair in two whirls at her temples. She was
smiling at her and clapping decorously.
‘Well you do scrub up nicely, my dear,’ she said.
‘I feel ridiculous!’ Amelia kissed her old friend on the cheek and the two women hugged.
‘It’s a splendid turn-out.’
Earhart nodded and took a sip of champagne as she cast her eyes around the gathering. She leaned in to Eleanor’s ear. ‘I just hope they’re all in a generous mood.’
A tall man in a dinner jacket approached and gave a slight bow to the two women. ‘We are ready when you are, Mrs Roosevelt.’
Amelia took a deep breath. ‘Well, time and tide and all that.’ She gave Eleanor Roosevelt a nervous look.
‘Between us we’ll knock ’em dead.’ The First Lady squeezed Amelia’s elbow.
Eleanor led the way across the room, parting the throng as she went. The band was still playing, a more modern tune now; Amelia recognized it, one of her current favourites, Benny
Goodman’s ‘Stompin’ at the Savoy’. The gathered wealthy of Washington and New York seemed relaxed, lubricated with free-flowing champagne.
The two women reached a podium at one end of the room and the music faded to nothing. Amelia could hear the hubbub of conversation dwindle to silence. She stood to one side of a wooden lectern
and the First Lady walked calmly up to the microphone; it squeaked as she approached. Pausing, she surveyed the hundreds of faces: politicians, business moguls and patrons of the arts and sciences
accompanied by their bejewelled wives.
‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ She had a rather frail, high-pitched voice, but years of experience as the wife of the 32nd president had imbued her with confidence. ‘It was with
enormous pleasure that I accepted the invitation to be here this evening, in this magnificent setting; and it too is an honour to introduce to you one of the greatest women alive today. This lady
is not only a cherished friend of mine and my husband’s, but as you will all know, she is one of this country’s most respected ambassadors, renowned throughout the world for her
pioneering achievements as an aviator, a woman dedicated to pushing back the boundaries of what is possible. To me, it seems unimaginable that anyone could climb into a machine and fly across
oceans and continents, but my friend here does it before breakfast. She needs no further introduction. I give you Amelia Earhart.’
Eleanor Roosevelt stepped down as Amelia took the podium to warm applause.
‘Well, my goodness!’ she began and turned to the First Lady seated at the side of the dais.
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