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pusher plane in which she made a record 967-mile flight from New York to Chicago in 1916 had two controls, each requiring constant use of a hand. How to consult maps and compass readings and still stay aloft was something she had to work out for herself. She solved the problem by marking her compass readings on her long leather gauntlet and by designing a special map case in which she inserted a scroll made of stripped-out sections of Geodetic Survey maps. While she could never safely remove her hand from the left or vertical control, she could hold the right control her knee long enough to wind the knobs of the map case. 

Miss Law designed her own fuel system for the New York to Chicago 

[[image: Full body photo of Ruth Law Oliver]]

[[Caption: Ruth Law Oliver designed her own flying garb when she became pilot back in 1912.]]

flight, supplementing her airplane's eight-gallon-capacity gasoline tank with auxiliary tanks which boosted her supply to- 53 gallons. She flew until the tanks were about empty and then sought a field or racetrack on which to land. The flight was made in bitter cold November weather in 1916. She wore four layers of clothing, a leather face mask, helmet and goggles. Thus garbed, her trim figure was padded and deceptive. It confused one onlooker so much that just before takeoff, he ran up to her, shook hands vigorously, and shouted: "Good luck, young fellow." 

Mrs. Oliver has a certain detachment about her past publicity, much of which, she says, she has not read. "But I had what they now call a good press," she marked recently

as she thumbed through her scrapbook filled with banner headlines, clipping and pictures. "Newspaper people have always been so good to me that I've never complained of their few mistakes." She spotted one as she turned a page and pointed out her photograph under the caption, "The late Ruth Law." "They tried to kill me off that time," she chuckled. 

The Uncle Robbie Incident

"Then there is a grapefruit story," she said. "It pops up during most baseball seasons in one version or another." 

Regardless of form, though, the perennial question is who threw the grapefruit at Uncle Wilbert Robinson? The answer: Ruth Law Oliver. 

[[Image: photo of Ruth Law Oliver]]

[[Caption: The famous lady flier posed for this photo shortly before retiring as a stunt pilot.]]

The Brooklyn Dodgers had come down to Florida for spring practice. To highlight their arrival, Miss Law had been asked to throw the first baseball, not from the usual grandstand seat, but from her airplane. Wilbert Robinson, famous Dodger manager and a self-styled expert at snaring high pop flies, was to be the catcher of this unusual battery. Miss Law knew little baseball, but just before takeoff, she realized no one had given her a baseball to throw. "Here," said her mechanic, "you can use this. It's about the size of a baseball." He handed Miss Law a grapefruit. Miss Law, of course, knew nothing of the different weights and balances between a grapefruit and a baseball. Once aloft and in position, she zeroed in on Robinson, flung the grapefruit, 

scored a direct hit on Uncle Robbie's chest and knocked him flat on his back. 

Though Miss Law was horrified, many Dodger fans were delighted at the newest example of Dodger daffiness. Uncle Robbie, bedizened by a grapefruit, was almost as funny to them as three of his runners occupying third base simultaneously, which sometimes happened. 

Ruth Law's interest in stunt and endurance flying grew out of her sisterly admiration for the courage and adventurous spirit of her brother, Rodman Law. He was one of the movies^2 original stunt men, and though never a pilot, he was one of the first exhibition parachute jumpers. Ruth and Rodman were two dare-

[[Image: photo of Mrs. Oliver]]

[[Caption: Mrs. Oliver today is a busy California clubwoman with vivid memories of flying days.]]

devil children in a family known for its conservatism. Their youthful exploits, which were so out of character for the family, once prompted their mother to remark that she felt like a hen who had hatched two ducks. 

Ruth's husband, the late Charles Oliver, also was vitally interested in flying. He was of too nervous a temperament to fly himself; instead he served as her business manager and it was he who made certain that she was paid commensurate with the risks she took and the magic drawing power of her name. At one time per stunting fee was $9,000 a week, but she passed this up frequently during World War 1 when she gave scores of flying exhibitions in order to push recruiting or help sell Liberty bonds.