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To put the action of the first woman to drive an auto coast to coast and her progression to the role of first woman pilot, needs a little background.  Everyone likes to know how a headline maker got that way. I'll try to tell you with an absolute minimum of flak.

I was the only child of moderately well to do parents [[strikethrough]] I had [[/strikethrough]] with all the advantages of a 'proper' upbringing. After all, didn't my ancestors share a boat ride with John and Priscilla?  I received the good material things until I was brattish.  My 'proper training' was not only disguised but conveniently submerged in tomboyish activities. My parents [[strikethrough]] not only [[/strikethrough]] accepted this turn of events,, [[strikethrough]] but [[/strikethrough]] condoned and [[strikethrough]] accepted [[/strikethrough]] approved it. Many times one of the relatives would shake a puzzled head and say, "So, like Great, Great Grandmother Scott."  This pleased me no end. Grandmother Scott was strictly a no-nonsense pioneer homemaker and mother. She was also a deadly rifle shot. No less than six maurading [[sic]] Indians challenged her courage and flouted her marksmanship.  It was their last mistake.  Grandma had a very active allergy to permanent loss of hair.  She considered the tomahawk and scalping knife very crude.  Grandfather buried each without book or candle behind the corncrib.  My parents insisted I think and act for myself.  Should my decision based on my judgement, be disputed, my father would thunder from his Olympian height of six-three, "Are you right?"

"Yes", I replied determinedly.

"Are you SURE you're right?"

"Yes"

"Then tell them to go to Hell."

Years later, when my mother recalled one such incident, she'd add "And she's never stopped [[strikethrough]] them [[/strikethrough]] telling them from that time on.". [[sic]]  I might observe that in spite of my regular consignments at this writing, Hell is only half full. Regretable! [[sic]]