Above and Beyond: Aunt Mildred
A race across the Pacific.
- By Richard A. Durose
- Air & Space magazine, March 2011
Courtesy Richard A. Durose
In 1927, during the Dole Trans-Pacific Air Race, Mildred Doran was lost over the Pacific. Her little sister, Helen—my mother—was so grief-stricken by the loss of her sister that she never talked about Mildred. In 1948, when I was 10, while visiting relatives in Flint, Michigan, my parents announced that we would drive by the Doran Tower, named in Mildred’s memory. The three-story, six-sided wood building was tapered at the top like a windmill. As a child, I thought it odd that a building housing a gas station would be designated a memorial.
A couple of years ago, when I retired, I looked into the picture albums, scrapbooks, and memorabilia my mother had kept and tracked down books and magazine articles about the Dole race. I learned that only a year before the race, while still in college, Mildred and a friend attended an airshow, where they were offered a ride. In a newspaper clipping, Mildred later recounted: “I could have just prayed for someone to forbid me to go,” but since her friend was willing, she would not back out. She told the Detroit Times, “I am nothing of a hoyden and yet the first time I went up, I wasn’t a bit afraid.”
Lincoln Oils, which operated a chain of gas stations in Michigan, was owned by Bill Malloska, a former carnival owner. The flamboyant marketer was always looking for ways to promote his business and was well known around Flint as the generous sponsor of baseball and bowling teams. Though not a pilot, three miles from downtown Flint he constructed a hangar and airstrip, called Lincoln Field, simply for the publicity potential.
Soon an airshow out of Lincoln, Nebraska, made Lincoln Field its headquarters. The Air Circus, an adjunct of the Lincoln Standard Aircraft Company, picked Flint because of its central Michigan location: The well-paid auto workers made excellent customers. The circus advertised air races, stunt flying, wingwalking, parachute jumps, and rides for patrons.
Malloska approached the Circus with a proposition. He would supply free fuel and oil to the performers if they would paint “Lincoln Oils—Flint” on the fuselages of their airplanes.
Mildred started bringing the latest flying news to the airshow performers at Lincoln Field—and in 1927, there was plenty to talk about. Just four days after Charles Lindbergh landed in Paris, James Dole, the “Pineapple King,” announced a prize of $25,000 for the first pilot to fly from California to Hawaii, 2,400 miles over the Pacific. Mildred begged Malloska to enter the Dole race—and let her go along. Malloska agreed to sign up. It would be a publicity bonanza.
When Lincoln Standard could not deliver an airplane in time, Malloska purchased a Buhl Airsedan CA-5, made in nearby Marysville, Michigan. At a dedication ceremony, which included the mayor and other dignitaries from Flint, the name of the Buhl was revealed: Miss Doran. Mildred would sit in the back. A large Lincoln Oils logo was on both sides of the red, white, and blue sesquiplane—a design in which the lower wing is smaller than the upper. It was christened with—thanks to Prohibition—a bottle of ginger ale.
Two Air Circus pilots, Slonnie Sloniger and Augie Pedlar, wanted to fly Miss Doran. A coin toss won Pedlar the job. In his memoirs, Sloniger referred to Pedlar as primarily a wingwalker who flew only occasionally, and had far fewer than the 200 hours required by race officials. Pedlar himself claimed an extensive flying background. Whether it was fact or fiction, he convinced race officials of his qualifications. Lieutenant Vilas “Cy” Knope was later appointed navigator.
Mildred, a schoolteacher, was the only woman to participate in the Dole race. The wisdom of the day questioned permitting a woman to fly, even as a passenger. Mildred shrugged off the issue, saying “A woman should fly just as easily as a man.… Women certainly have the courage and tenacity required for long flights.” On the hazards of the long flight over water, she told the Flint Journal: “Life is nothing but a chance.”