The Story of Jimmie Joe Broadwell: Determination Goes a Long Way

It would take some great acting to pull this feat off, but then hard-headed determination had always been Jimmie Joe Broadwell's long suit. It was written in the chiseled jaw, glittering steel blue eyes and reflected by a manor of straightforward speaking. A long distance flight in 1916 from Texas to Canada made a rough trip because flying then proved especially difficult. These qualities helped make it possible.

Rumor flew that the United States would soon be entering the Great War. The curtailing of Civilian flying had already been put in place and people felt a strong desire to do something about it, but the question everyone's minds was, what? The entire idea of war made Jimmie Joe angry and an unquenchable desire to get even with someone had helped make this decision a reality.

The only one drawback to the plan was height. Would five feet seven be too short for acceptance in the French Tricolor Flying Corps?

Surely not, Jimmie Joe thought. There was not much time to ponder this though, as the names of the applicants began to ring out.

The slumped shouldered man in a khaki colored uniform shouted the names, then looked around to see if anyone would answer or come forward.

Then finally the man called out, "Jimmie Joe Broadwell!".

Jimmie Joe quickly stood up, as the officer waved his hand signifying it was time to advance to the table. Before even getting a chance to sit down the man behind the desk shouted out the questions.

"What part of Canada do you come from?"

"Texas sir! I'm not Canadian, sir, but from Texas in the United States of America."

The officer looked up with a frown pasted across his in puzzlement. Then he wrote down the answer and continued.
"Do you own an aeroplane of your own and do you know how to fly?"

"Yes sir! I have a plane and know how to fly. That's how I got here, in my own plane." Jimmie Joe replied somewhat curt.

Totally ignoring the remark, the officer kept writing and asking questions.

"Are you ready to sign allegiance to France and all her enemies?" He never looked up still speaking in a monotone, bored voice.

"Yes sir, I am."

"Very good," He pointed to a blank line, "Sign there," as he shoved the papers across the desk for Jimmie Joe. "Go get your physical, the second door on the left." He pointed toward a door.

His voice droned on as if he didn't care one way or the other, calling out another name without waiting for Jimmie Joe to leave.

"Michael Francis Shaw!" He then looked up to see if the next applicant was coming.

Jimmie didn't have time to protest but thought, they treat us more like cattle then people.

A physical was one thing that had not been in the plan. Almost in panic, Jimmie Joe headed for the door-marked latrine wondering how to avoid this big hurdle. Entering the room the answer came quickly, as if a miracle was occurring. In the corner another small young man huddled against the wall, sobbing.

Approaching the man Jimmie tried to find out what the problem was. Jimmie tried to make a friendly gesture to relieve the man's pain. "Hi, I'm Jimmie Joe Broadwell! What's your problem? There is nothing so bad you have to crouch in a corner and cry about it, unless you just lost your Mother or something."

"That's strange," the stooping figure replied. "My name is Jimmie too. Jimmie Fontaine." He paused a moment to think of how to answer the question. Then he blurted out, "I'm afraid! I'm a coward! I don't want to fight a war. I know if I go, I'll be killed." He began to cry. "All I want to do is sneak off into the United States with my girl friend and hide somewhere in the woods."

"If that is how you feel what are you doing here? This is a volunteer group."

"I'm a trained pilot and my father insists that I should sign up for the TRICOLOR". He looked up with tears running down his face. "He is waiting to see me go! What can I do to keep from hurting him? I can't get out of it!"

He didn't know it but he had just given a solution to both of their problems.

Jimmie Joe went over to the young man and noticed they were the same height and size. "Now, Now, don't fret! I have a plan that will let you do what you want and will help me with a problem I have too." Putting an arm around the scared fellow, in true comrade style, Jimmie Joe tried to console him with a quickly conceived plan.

"You see, my problem is I don't think I can pass the physical and I want desperately to go fight. You don't want to go, but need to make someone think you will. How about changing places with me and we will both get our wish?"

The boy's face brightened, as he thought about the idea. "Are you saying that if my Father sees me go for the physical he will think I volunteered?"

Jimmy Joe gave an affirmative nod.

Then a frown came across the boy's face. "But how do I get out of having to go?"

"Simple, my friend! You come back here, give me your papers, and I will join the other men". Jimmie Joe smiled to add encouragement. "After your Father is gone, you can slip out, go on with your life and I with mine. How does that sound to you?"

"It sounds like a great plan and at least worth a try, but what about you? Won't they wonder where you went to?"

"Yes but since I'm from the states they will not care and will soon forget about me."

They shook hands on the deal and made an agreement. Jimmie Joe looked around for a hiding place, decided a toilet stall would have to do until the fellow conspirator returned, and the deed was accomplished. Jimmy Fontaine would return with the paper work and remain hidden until the squad left.

That twenty minutes in the stall was like a million years to Jimmie Joe but finally Jimmie Fontaine returned with his physical papers in hand. They shook hands and Fontaine took his place in the same stall to await an opportunity to sneak away.

There was not much time to think about all this, as the name "Fontaine" yelled out by the officer in charge. That problem solved Jimmie Joe, (now alias Jimmy Fontaine), was soon to be a member of the French Tricolor flying team.

The man in uniform started loading the bus that would take them to the airfield for training and Jimmie Joe Broadwell got in line and climbed aboard.

Back inside the building, the real Fontaine stood on a commode seat peeking out the window at the bus. He watched out the window at his replacement, the new Fontaine turned around, smiled at him, and give a little wave of fingers as the bus passed the latrine window. The deed had been done.

Training proved minimal since they all were registered pilots anyway. They received uniforms, trained for combat on the guns, and assigned to separate units. Soon they were all on their way to France, primed for combat.

Answering to the name of Fontaine had been more of a challenge than Jimmie Joe anticipated. There were many times when the name Fontaine called out, had it not been for another pilot standing along side poking Jimmie's side it would have been missed. That had proved to be more of a challenge than trying to keep the others from figuring out how much different they were.

The new Fontaine moved with care until after that first mission, afraid of detection. That day finally came. Fear, courage, and comradeship were close companions in all those cockpits that day. Each pilot gave the thumbs up to the other pilots and was off to accomplish their mission against the Germans. After the mission concluded and they landed, everyone was proud to have not lost a single plane or pilot. Each of them hugged each other in congratulations. Jimmie Joe tried not to be among those hugged but couldn't avoid all of them. It was then that one of the pilots had a realization.

"My God, Fontaine is a girl!"

The flight suit managed to hide her breast as long as no one got close enough to hug her. She fought the enemy, shot them down, just as the men had done, and received their confidence. Now, all that didn't seem to matter.

She deceived them and the rest of the men felt betrayed. Only one of them spoke to her, when they sent her back to Canada. He admired her spunk and courage.

They might have thrown her out of the French Tricolors team but they couldn't take away the thrill or the excitement of fighting the enemy. They could not take away the camaraderie of belonging to an elite group of flyers. She accomplished her goal and would go on to prove to her Father that a woman could do almost anything a man could.

Soon people would understand that women were a force to be reckoned with and equals. It seems she was right!

NOTE - For those curious about this story, it is totally fictional. The object of writing this was to see if I could write a story, keeping the reader in the dark about the sexual orientation of the main character to almost the end. It was not written about woman's rights. However during this period of time (World War 1) woman were exempt from doing anything like this and were expected to be homemakers, nurses, or teachers. Thus, the reason for my ending remark. The woman of this time often defied men in their ideas of wanting them to stay home, cook, and have children. They were as independent as the woman of today but had to be more furtive about it.

The amazing thing is that my mother learned to fly a plane in 1919 before my father did. He left Maine to join the Army Air Corp and after many years became a command pilot and General in the US Air Force before he retired.