I'm Jackie Cochran, she said, pumping my hand.
Great job, Captain Yeager.
We're all really proud of you.
She invited me to lunch, acting as if I should
know exactly who she was, and caused an uproar just by entering the posh Washington restaurant.
The owner began bowing and scraping, and the waiters went flying.
In between pumping me for all the details of my flights, I learned a little about who she was.
She was a honcho on several important aviation boards and committees,
and was a famous aviatrix before the war, winner of the Bendrix air races.
She had been a close friend of Amelia Earhart's.
During the war, she was a colonel in charge of the WASPs, the Women's Air Force service pilots,
and ferried B-17 bombers to England.
Hell, she knew everybody and bounced all over the world.
On VE Day, she was one of the first Americans to get down inside Hitler's bunker in Berlin.
And came away with a gold doorknob off his bathroom by trading
for it with a Russian soldier for a pack of cigarettes.
On VJ Day, she was in Tokyo, playing poker with a couple of generals on MacArthur's staff,
and conned her way on board the battleship Missouri to watch the surrender ceremonies.
As I would learn more than once over the next couple of decades,
when Jackie Cochran set her mind to do something, she was a damn Sherman tank at full steam.