Anita Neta Snook

Just a few months later, however, after Snook had logged many hours in the air but before she had managed to solo, a notice from the government’s Security Division effectively stopped all flying in and out of the school. The United States had entered World War I on the Allied side, and there was fear that German spies would gain admittance to the school in an effort to take aerial photographs of the surrounding embarkation camps. The school’s aircraft were dismantled in early 1918 and sent — along with many of the students, including Snook — to another of Curtiss’ aviation schools in Miami, Fla.

But only months later, in March 1918, Snook’s training was interrupted once more — again before she’d been able to solo. President Woodrow Wilson issued an order prohibiting all private flying in the United States for the war’s duration. Having secured a letter of reference from the school’s manager, Snook packed her bags. Her frustration is still evident in her recollection of the event more than five decades later: “After parting farewells with all my Newport News friends, I went home — back to Iowa — with nothing to show for the past year except a ‘To Whom it May Concern’ scrap of paper.”

Snook had been home only briefly when she received an invitation from the British Air Ministry to work as an expediter. A friend from the Davenport Aviation School had recommended her for the position. Snook’s job was to improve delivery of airplane parts and engines that were being built in North America and shipped to England for the Royal Air Force. This move put her in Elmira, N.Y., where she tested metals and inspected Curtiss OX-5 training plane engines and Sunbeam engine parts at the Willys-Morrow plant. At war’s end in November 1918, she received a certificate of appreciation from the British War Mission. Once again she was free to pursue flying.

Before leaving Elmira, Snook bought a wrecked Canuck, a Canadian version of a Curtiss JN-4 “Jenny,” and had it shipped home to Ames. There, in between taking more classes at Iowa State, she rebuilt the airplane in her parents’ backyard. She recalled: “People came to see it and asked, ‘How will you get it out of this small yard? Can you fly straight up? Which is the front end?’ There were few people in the middle west who had ever seen a plane, most of the flying being limited to the east.”

When she had finished the Canuck, she dismantled the plane and had the fuselage towed to a nearby pasture, where she reassembled it. “I was so concerned about the airworthiness of my rebuilt plane that I didn’t think about myself,” she recalled. “I knew I could fly.” Indeed she could, finally soloing in the spring of 1920.

Snook barnstormed across the Midwest, offering 15-minute rides for $15. She had a U.S. license for flying civilian aircraft that had established the number of passengers she was allowed to carry as “none,” but Snook boldly erased the “n,” making it read “one.” A license she had more respect for was that of the Aero Club of America, and with it recognition as a pilot from the Fédération Aéronautique Internationale. During the summer of 1920 she passed the test for that license. “That, I think, was the climax of my aviation career,” she declared. “Now I was a recognized pilot before all the world.”

Flying was tough during Iowa winters. Eager to get more time in the air, Snook dismantled the Canuck and shipped it to Los Angeles. There, she heard about Winfield “Bert” Kinner and his airfield near Huntington Park, where he built his Kinner Airsters. She made a deal with Kinner to test-fly his planes in return for full commercial use of his airfield and set up a business there flying passengers and aerial advertising stunts and teaching flying.

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