"For 55 years, her fate has been a mystery," said Richard Gillespie presenting his evidence. "Today that mystery is solved."
Well, maybe. The fate of Amelia Earhart has produced a cottage industry of speculators and mystery lovers. In the early years, there were rumors that Earhart had been taken prisoner by the Japanese, rumors she'd disappeared to assume another life. A few even believed she was Tokyo Rose.
Today's Amelia Earhart buffs are a more scientific bunch. But they remain skeptical and are likely to keep the case open. So be it.
Frankly, I find the mystery of Earhart's death less intriguing than the mystery of her life. If this woman has remained in the limelight long enough to please even her ardent publicist and husband, George Putnam, it's not
because of her disappearing role, it's because of her historic role.
She is still one of that string of "first women" who stretch back through time. It links the first woman pilot to the first woman astronaut, to the first woman fighter pilot. For some the title is a breakthrough and for others a burden, but each changes the world a bit.
Amelia Earhart, "girl pilot," "aviatrix," was born in 1897 in Kansas and never saw a plane until she was 10. She didn't start flying until she was 23. In 1927, at the tail end of one women's movement and long before another, she was a 30-year-old Boston social worker with a pilot's license, scrimping her way out of debt.
Out of the blue, Earhart was asked if she wanted to fly across the Atlantic. In the 1920s, flying was still something between a feat and a stunt, between pathbreaking and barnstorming. After Charles Lindbergh crossed the Atlantic and became an American hero, some people seeking attention for another flight, came upon the idea of the "girl pilot."
