The metal barricades shone in the early sun as 73-year-old Margaret Sullivan cautiously made her way through the crowd at Davis Air Force Base. Her hands were rough, and she held a faded leather bag with notes in it that she had carried around for 40 years. At the annual Wings of Freedom air display, thousands of people pushed and shoved to get a good spot.
As fighter planes flew in patterns across the Arizona sky, Margaret stopped to gather her breath. Her knee hurt after the long walk from the parking lot. She had driven four hours from her little apartment in Phoenix to view the planes that had changed her life. The same plane that most people thought was unattractive and old.
The Warthog is a nickname for the A-10 Thunderbolt II. Sorry, ma’am. A loud voice broke through her thoughts.
A man in his 40s with an air show staff vest stood in front of her, looking impatient. The name tag on him said, “Bradley Chen, Operations Manager.” This section is off-limits to everyone except VIPs.
People need to keep behind the yellow barriers over there. Margaret looked to the yellow fences 50 yards distant, where people were packed in like sardines. From there, she wouldn’t be able to see the plane at all, let alone the maintenance demonstrations she had come to observe.
“I get it,” she murmured softly, “but I wanted to see the A-10 maintenance processes up close.” You see, I know a little bit about… “Ma’am,” Bradley cut her off, sounding condescending as he looked at her basic cotton dress and threadbare sweater. I know you’re really interested in airplanes, but this area is reserved for people who work in the industry and special guests.
We can’t have regular people walking around and asking questions during the technical demos. Derek, a younger staff member, came up with a clipboard. Is everything good with you, Brad? Bradley didn’t bother to drop his voice when he told the woman that she needed to move on.
Most likely, it’s someone’s grandmother who got lost. You know how these old people get mixed up during major gatherings. Margaret’s cheeks turned red, but she stayed calm.
I’m not lost, and I know what I’m doing. Derek smirked and said, “I just wanted to see the maintenance demonstration.” The demo for maintenance? That’s some very technical stuff.
You might like the aerial shows better? Bradley said, “They’re doing a heritage flight later that will be really amazing, but if I were you, I’d get to the barriers soon.” It’s a long walk, especially for someone your age. He drifted off in a way that said something.
Margaret’s grip on her satchel got tighter. The original maintenance manuals she had authored were within. Procedures that had saved many lives and planes.
But these young men just saw an old woman who didn’t belong in their technical world. With quiet dignity, she turned away from their disdainful stares and replied, “I’ll find my way.” Derek was talking to Bradley as she walked.
Why do these old ladies constantly believe they know about military planes? She’s probably seen Top Gun once and now thinks she knows everything. As she slowly walked into the public viewing area, they laughed behind her. Other staff members hardly looked at her as she walked by, seeing exactly what Bradley had seen.
An old woman who didn’t stand out among the engineers, pilots, and military men who made up most of the VIP sections. Margaret finally made it to the crowded barriers where families with kids were pushing against the metal rails. She saw a small space between a bunch of teens and a family with strollers and slipped into it with a whispered “excuse me” that no one heard.
From her new spot, she could barely see the maintenance area where personnel would show off how tough and easy to fix the A-10 is. She was going to see the precise methods she had come up with from a distance, like a stranger to her own heritage. She took one of her notebooks out of her bag.
The pages had become yellow with age, but the technical drawings were still accurate. Her fingers followed the drawings she had made decades before, which were new ideas that changed how the A-10 was kept in good shape throughout the war. That’s a lot of information.
There was a voice next to her. A woman in her twenties with grease under her nails was looking at the notepad with interest. Are you an engineer? I was in charge of the crew.
Margaret answered, happy that they were interested. Specialized in fixing damage from fighting and quick maintenance tasks. The young woman’s eyes got bigger.
Are you serious? That’s incredible. When did you serve? 1970-3/1995.
Margaret recalled, “I was one of the first women to go to maintenance when the plane was brand new.” Wow. The woman was going to question more when the voice of the announcer rang out across the field.
Please welcome Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Morrison in the A-10 Thunderbolt II for our demonstration of close air support capabilities. Margaret’s breath stopped. Sarah Morrison.
She wasn’t even aware that her granddaughter was flying today. It looks like Sarah was given this demonstration at the last minute. They hadn’t talked to each other in months.
Sarah’s deployment schedule and Margaret’s pride kept them from getting back together after a stupid fight about Margaret’s insistence on living alone. She saw the A-10’s unusual shape appear on the horizon, and she could hear its two engines moaning their own tune. She could tell Sarah was flying very well, even from this distance.
Every move was exact and had a purpose. The young mechanic next to her was using his phone to film. I love that sound, God.
Do you know what’s crazy? They believe that the way these birds were cared for was so good that we hardly changed anything after 50 years. In the 1970s, a woman named Margaret Sullivan came up with a way to keep these things flying with very few tools. A man’s voice broke in.
An older man wearing a Desert Storm veteran cap had heard what they were saying. She changed the way combat maintenance was done, and her field repair methods rescued my plane more than once. Margaret turned around. She didn’t know the old man’s face, but she could see the real respect in his eyes.
Did you know about the procedures for Sullivan? Did you know about them? The veteran laughed. Ma’am? For the last 40 years, every A-10 maintainer has learned how to use the Sullivan manual. Margaret Sullivan found a way to use speed tape and aluminum sheets to cover up 30-millimeter holes that would last until you arrived home.
She came up with the modular repair technique that made it possible for us to fix hydraulics using simple tools. That woman rescued more planes than any pilot ever could. The young mechanic’s mouth dropped open.
Damp. What are Sullivan procedures? What are the Sullivan procedures? Those are famous. We still use them.
My teacher remarked that whoever Sullivan was should get a statue. Margaret smiled gently. She was just doing what she was supposed to do.
The veteran looked at her more closely. His eyes became wider as he realized what was going on. Oh my.
You are her. You are Margaret Sullivan. Before Margaret could say anything, Bradley Chen’s voice came through a nearby speaker as he worked with the maintenance personnel.
Okay, everyone. Let’s make this appear nice for the people. Keep in mind that we’re showing them how to do maintenance well in the 21st century, not how to do it in the Stone Age when women thought they could fix things with wrenches.
A lot of folks in the crowd moved about uncomfortably after the comment. The young mechanic next to Margaret got angry. What a jerk.
Some of the best mechanics I know are women. The A-10 was getting closer to the field for its initial pass. Margaret was proud of how well her granddaughter flew.
But she was interested in the maintenance demonstration that was being put up downstairs. They were getting ready to teach how to fix damage from a combat. Following steps that Margaret was quite familiar with because she had made them.
“Ma’am,” the veteran stated earnestly. Does Colonel Morrison know you’re here? Margaret shook her head. We haven’t talked in a long time.
I didn’t even know she was going to fly today. The old soldier took out his phone. My son is an air traffic controller here.
Let me make a call. No, please. Margaret said no.
I don’t want to make things worse. But the veteran was already on the phone and talking quickly. More veterans nearby had heard the talk and were coming together. The news traveled quickly across the crowd.
Who is Margaret Sullivan? Is Margaret Sullivan here? The woman who wrote the book on how to take care of an A-10? My crew chief in Afghanistan swore by her methods and said they saved more lives than body armor. Within minutes, Margaret was surrounded by veterans and active duty members who were all thanking her and sharing their tales. The young mechanic was writing down everything.
She had tears in her eyes as she realized she was next to a living legend. Bradley Chen’s voice came over the speakers again, this time in a bad mood. Safety.
There is some kind of trouble in Section C. It’s probably another drunk veteran. Handle it discreetly. Two security guards walked up to the crowd that was forming around Margaret, but they stopped when they saw that the gathering was not a problem but something like an impromptu honor ceremony.
Veterans were giving Margaret challenge coins and patches from the units she had saved with her new ideas. The A-10 was on the airstrip and had finished its second pass. It was now getting ready for the weapons demonstration. But something was going on in the cockpit.
Sarah Morrison was listening to the tower frequency when she got an odd message from a controller she knew, Viper 23. Please be aware that there is a problem on the ground. Your grandmother, Margaret Sullivan, is in Section C with a lot of other people. It seems that half of the veterans here are treating her like a hero.
And that stuck-up Bradley Chen called security on her earlier because she was trying to get a closer look at the maintenance demo. Sarah’s grip on the stick got tighter. Was her granny here? The woman who had taught her everything she knew about hard work, doing things well, and making a difference without making a big deal out of it? The woman she hadn’t been able to call for six months? Tower.
Viper 23, asking to change the demonstration pattern. Sarah claimed her choice isn’t a stunt. Viper 23.
What did you say? You’re in the midst of Tower. I’m doing an honor pass for Chief Master Sergeant Margaret Sullivan. The Air Force of the United States.
No longer working. The woman who wrote the rules that let these birds fly? Sarah banked the A-10 hard left without waiting for permission. She dropped altitude and flew straight toward Section C. The crowd gasped at the unexpected move, and the announcer’s scream echoed across the field. This is not part of the planned demonstration, ladies and gentlemen.
The A-10 is going off course… Sarah switched her radio to the public address frequency. Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Morrison is here. I’m proud to be flying the A-10 today, but I’m even prouder to be the granddaughter of the woman who made it possible for this plane to survive 50 years of war.
Chief Master Sergeant Margaret Sullivan came up with the maintenance procedures that kept hundreds of pilots safe and returned them home. She is here today, in the public admittance area, since some people still think women shouldn’t work in aviation maintenance. The A-10 flew above Section C at the lowest safe altitude, then climbed steeply.
Sarah did the wing dips for the missing man formation as it did. Going left. Okay.
Level. The traditional salute to a slain or honored comrade was given to a living icon who had been treated like a nobody. The crowd went wild.
Bradley Chen’s face showed on the jumbotron. He looked pale with horror when he learned that 20,000 people had seen how he treated women and how he talked about them in a sexist way. Sarah’s voice kept coming over the PA, “Grandma.” I’m sorry I haven’t called because I’ve been too obstinate.
I’m sorry you had to stand in line with a lot of other people to see the methods you came up with. But ultimately, I’m sorry that people still judge you by your age and gender instead of what you’ve done. Margaret remained still, tears running down her wrinkled cheeks as her granddaughter’s plane flew around and came back for another pass.
The veterans around her stood up straight and saluted as one. The young mechanic was crying openly, and her phone was still recording. As base leadership rushed to Section C after being told about the situation, security officers made a way. The base commander, a two-star general, helped Margaret get through the obstacles himself.
The general said, “Chief Sullivan.” I’m sorry for the way you were treated today. Would you do us the pleasure of joining me in the VIP area? Your grandchild will be here soon.
And I think there are a few thousand individuals who would like to thank you in person. Bradley Chen tried to stop them as they took Margaret to the front. Generally, I didn’t know who she was.
She didn’t say she was Mr. Chen. The general cut him off without any warning. She shouldn’t have had to.
Everyone at this event should be treated with respect. You fired a veteran, any veteran, just because of their age and gender. That shows me you’re not fit for the job. Get rid of everything on your desk.
You’re done now. The crowd moved aside as Margaret was taken to the VIP area, which she had been told she couldn’t enter an hour earlier. The maintenance crews stood at attention as she walked by, getting ready for their demonstration.
A few of them were crying. One person yelled, “Chief Sullivan!” For the demo today, we’re following your steps.
Would you be so kind as to supervise? Margaret smiled even though she was crying. I’d love to, but I think you know them better than I do by now. The announcer’s voice came back, this time full of emotion, as Sarah’s A-10 landed and taxied to the VIP area.
We have just seen something amazing, ladies and gentlemen. Chief Master Sergeant Margaret Sullivan, the woman who changed how we maintain A-10s and saved many lives with her new ideas, has been with us the whole time. For 50 years, these planes have survived every war because of her.
She is the reason pilots have complete faith in their maintenance teams. People told her she didn’t belong near the planes she helped make famous, so she’s been standing in our general admissions area. The A-10 stopped right in front of the VIP area.
Sarah turned off the engines, opened the canopy, and climbed down the ladder in record time. She didn’t give a salute. She didn’t act like it was a big deal.
She just raced to her grandma and hugged her tightly. Sarah muttered, “I’m so sorry for everything.” For not phoning, for not making sure you had VIP access, and for having you stand in that crowd when you should have been in a procession.
Margaret hugged her grandchild tightly. You just offered me something better than a parade. The young technician from the throng somehow made it to the front, still shooting.
She yelled, “Chief Sullivan!” My name is Airman First Class Martinez. I work on the A-10S.
Your guidebook taught me everything I know. Could I? Can I shake your hand? Margaret reached out her hand, but Martinez astonished her by jerking to attention and giving her a beautiful salute instead. In a matter of seconds, all the soldiers in sight were saluting, making a sea of uplifted hands honoring the woman who had been invisible an hour earlier.
The base commander responded softly, “Ma’am.” We have a microphone set up if you want to say something, but there’s no pressure if I’ve been quiet for too long. Margaret spoke forward, her voice stronger now.
I believe it’s time for me to speak up. She walked up to the microphone and looked out at the 20,000 people in the front seats. She could see security taking Bradley Chen away.
She wasn’t happy that he was fired; she was just sorry that people like him still exist. “She started talking when I started working on the A-10 in 1973,” her voice carried clearly over the quiet audience. People warned me that women shouldn’t work on planes.
People warned me that our hands were too feeble, our minds were too dispersed, and our emotions were too fragile for the hard labor of keeping combat aircraft in the air. She stopped talking so that her words could sink in. I let my work speak for itself for 22 years.
I came up with ways to salvage a plane that had lost 50% of its hydraulics. I learned how to fix fuel tanks with things you can obtain at any forward operating base. I taught hundreds of maintainers, and many of them are now the chiefs and instructors who train your maintainers.
The crowd was utterly quiet and listening to every word. I didn’t do this work to prove those people incorrect about women. I did it because pilots’ lives depended on it. Every plane that didn’t make it home meant that someone’s child, husband, or parent wouldn’t be coming back. That’s what was important.
Not if I belonged, but if I could assist people in getting home. As Margaret spoke, her voice got stronger. I was advised today that I shouldn’t be near the plane.
I helped keep flying. I got let go because I’m old. Because I’m a woman.
Because I don’t look like someone who knows how to fly in war. And you know what? That guy was partly right. I don’t get modern combat aviation.
I don’t comprehend the technology, but I do understand something more significant. That everyone, no matter how old, what gender, or how they look, has something to offer. That means you won’t get the knowledge, experience, and new ideas you really need if you don’t choose someone who meets your standards.
She gazed straight into the camera that was sending the signal to the Jumbotron. To every young lady who has been told she doesn’t belong in a technical profession. Remember these words if you’ve ever been turned down because of how you appear instead of what you know.
Your effort will last longer than the bias. Your work will still be important long after the people who doubted you are gone. Don’t waste energy trying to prove you belong.
Just get it done. Excellence is more powerful than any argument. The applause started out quiet and soon grew into a loud roar.
Veterans who have benefited from her work stood and saluted. Many young female mechanics and pilots pushed forward, some of them crying. The maintenance staff held up copies of the Sullivan Manual, which was still being utilized 50 years after she wrote it.
Sarah stood next to her grandmother, and her own eyes were filled with sorrow. That was amazing. Grandma.
No. Margaret looked at her granddaughter with pride and said, “Yes.” It’s amazing that you were willing to put your job on the line to do the right thing.
That’s what I really wanted to leave behind. The commander of the base came up to him again. We’d like to give you the respect you deserve, Chief Sullivan.
Would you be willing to oversee the demonstration of maintenance? Showing these people how the steps they take every day were first thought of? Margaret’s eyes brightened up. I’d need a coverall. You can’t work on an airplane in a dress.
In a matter of minutes, she was dressed in maintenance gear and looked more at ease than she had all day. She walked onto the field with the maintenance crew, and young Airman Martinez was with her. The PA system announced Bradley Chen’s replacement.
Ladies and gentlemen, the person in charge of today’s maintenance demonstration is the one who made it all possible. Chief Master Sergeant Margaret Sullivan, the steps you’re about to see have been the same for 50 years because the people who made them were so good at their jobs that they never needed to be changed. Margaret worked with the crew, and even though her hands were old, she was still able to show them the patching process that had saved so many planes.
Martinez and the other young maintainers listened closely as she explained each process and why it was necessary. Look at this angle? She let them see. Exactly 30 degrees.
The patch won’t stand up under strain if it’s any steeper. If you go any shallower, the metal will grow tired. We learned that after losing two planes during training.
After that, I never lost another one because of a patch failure. As the protest came to an end, veterans started to come to the field. They made an unplanned line since they all wanted to tell Margaret their story.
A pilot who had lost his left leg said that her methods had gotten his A-10 back to base when everyone else felt it couldn’t fly. A crew chief from Iraq told how her manual was the only thing that kept their plane flying during a sandstorm that grounded everything else. “Ma’am,” one old soldier replied, his voice full of sorrow.
We were getting shot at a lot when I was at Firebase Alpha in Afghanistan. We lost half of our hydraulics and had more holes than Swiss cheese. My crew chief, a young woman who had learned your entire manual, used MRE containers and tape that could go 100 miles an hour to fix us up.
Because of what you told her, I was able to get home in time to witness my baby delivered, just like your instructions indicated. Margaret listened to each anecdote, remembering the long nights she had spent writing, testing, and improving those procedures. She knew they worked, but hearing about the lives saved and families kept whole because of her invention was too much for her to handle.
When the sun started to set and the Arizona sky turned bright orange and red, Sarah saw her grandma seated on a maintenance cart with manuals and young maintainers who were anxious to learn. Are you okay, Grandma? Sarah asked in a quiet voice. Margaret gazed at her granddaughter and then at the A-10, which was silhouetted against the sunset.
You know, for years I felt like no one saw me or remembered me. I assumed that my labor had been taken over by the system and given credit to no one. Just another set of steps in a guidebook.
But today she pointed to the crowd of veterans, maintainers, and pilots who were still waiting to see her. I learned today that the job is more important than the credit. They don’t care that I’m a woman or an old person.
They care that I assist them in doing their jobs better and getting home. With a smile, Sarah answered, “That’s not completely true.” They care that you’re a girl because you showed every girl who saw that they can go anywhere their skills take them.
You didn’t merely change how maintenance is done. You opened doors, Grandma. To make her point, Martinez came up with a group of young women maintainers.
We were wondering if you would be willing to hold a workshop, Chief Sullivan, to teach us not just the steps but also the reasoning behind them and the process of coming up with new ideas. Margaret’s face brightened up. I’m 73 years old. I don’t know how much more creative I can be, dear.
With all due respect, “Chief,” Martinez answered strongly. Age doesn’t matter when it comes to innovation.
It’s about looking at challenges from a different angle. And based on what I’ve observed today, you still notice things that the rest of us don’t. The base commander, who had been standing close, cleared his throat.
I have actually been on the phone with the leaders of the Air Force, Chief Sullivan. They want to hire you as a consultant to help them come up with the next generation of maintenance procedures for the new planes that are coming online. It looks like your ideas on field expedient repairs are just what they need.
Margaret blinked in shock. The general said, “At my age, at any age.” Excellence never goes away.
As the air show came to an end and the crowds started to leave, Margaret found herself in the middle of a party she had never expected. People who knew how valuable she really was were suddenly all around the woman who had been turned away from the VIP section that morning. Sarah helped her grandma take off her maintenance coveralls and put on her plain dress again.
You know, Grandma, you’re all the rage on social media. Sullivan Strong is the most popular hashtag right now. People are talking about how your methods save their planes and their lives.
Margaret laughed. I don’t get the whole hashtag thing, but if it makes one young woman feel like she belongs in a maintenance hangar, a cockpit, or wherever else she wants to be, I guess it’s worth it. As they went toward the parking lot, Margaret’s bag now held not just her old notes but also new cards and contact information from dozens of others who wanted to learn from her.
Martinez, the teenage mechanic, insisted on going with them. Martinez, who was still in awe of her idol Chief Sullivan, asked, “Can I ask you something?” as they got to Margaret’s ancient Honda Civic. When they told you that women couldn’t do this work and that you didn’t belong. What kept you going? Margaret thought over the question for a long time.
I guess it was just being stubborn at first. I didn’t like it when people told me what I couldn’t do. But then I began to see how my work was making a difference.
Every change I made and every process I improved meant that someone might make it home who wouldn’t have otherwise. After then, what they thought didn’t matter. The work was important.
The mission was important. The rest was simply noise. She smiled wryly and said, “Besides, I thought that if they were putting so much effort into telling me I didn’t belong, they must be worried I’d prove them wrong.”
It seemed like a shame to let them down. Sarah chuckled, the tension of their months-long quiet suddenly gone. That’s my grandma, quietly changing the way the military flies out of spite.
Not out of spite? Dear. Margaret kindly corrected. Goal.
There is a distinction. As Margaret drove away from Davis Air Force Base, her granddaughter followed her in her own car for a long-overdue dinner. She reflected about what had happened that day. She had been invisible this morning.
Not accepted. Not remembered. She was trending on something called “social media” tonight.
The Air Force offered me a job. And most crucially, she had gotten back in touch with her grandchild. But the stories were what mattered most.
Every veteran told her how her work had helped them. Every young maintainer is eager to learn. Everyone who saw it knew that quality has no age or gender limit.
That was the true gift. She saw an A-10 take off for a sunset flight in her rearview mirror. Its unique shape stood out against the painted sky.
The plane she had helped keep flying for 50 years was still safeguarding people who needed it. People who used methods she wrote when women weren’t allowed to work on airplane maintenance kept it up. Margaret smiled.
Sometimes the best way to get back at people who say you don’t belong is to make your work so important that they still use it 50 years later. And if you’re very lucky, your granddaughter will tell the world who you are and what you’ve done. The A-10 flew away, its engines singing the song that Margaret knew by heart.
The warthog was still in the air, still fighting, and still saving lives. And everyone who saw what happened tonight understood that Margaret Sullivan was a huge part of it. As she drove home into the desert twilight, her phone buzzed with texts from numbers she didn’t know. Veterans who wish to thank her.
Young women seeking help. Maintenance teams asking her to come to their bases. The woman who was supposed to be inconspicuous had become very visible.
But Margaret didn’t need anyone to tell her how valuable she was. She had known it every time a plane came home with damage but still flew. Every time, a maintainer used her methods to resolve a problem that seemed unsolvable.
Every time someone lived, it was because she wouldn’t accept that women didn’t belong. Today had just reminded the world of what she had always known. That others don’t give you belonging.
You earn it by being great, dedicated, and quietly determined to do the work that matters. No matter what anybody else thinks, the sun set completely as Margaret drove up to her house, with Sarah immediately behind her. She would start working on those next-generation procedures tomorrow.
She would eat dinner with her granddaughter tonight and tell her stories about how hard women had to work to get half the recognition. But things were different now. Today showed that.
And it looks like Margaret Sullivan, who was 73 years old, was just getting started on her second act. The warthog wasn’t the only animal that could take a beating and keep going. When someone tells you that you don’t belong, the best thing you can do is become legendary.
That is exactly what Margaret Sullivan had done. One operation, one saved plane, one life at a time. And now, finally, everyone knew it.
That night, Margaret and Sarah sat across from one another at Margaret’s modest kitchen table. The exact place where Sarah did her homework as a child while her grandma used paper airplanes to teach her about lift and drag. There was steam coming up from bowls of homemade chicken soup.
A recipe that has been passed down from mother to daughter for three generations. Sarah shook her head and continued, “I still can’t believe you were just standing in that crowd when I heard your name on the radio.” I thought my heart would stop.
When they told me what Bradley Chen had said to you, Margaret blew it off. Oh, honey, I’ve heard worse things. In 1974, my first boss told me I should learn to type since my weak female brain couldn’t manage the complexities of hydraulic systems.
I completely changed the hydraulic maintenance plan for battle circumstances six months later. Sarah said, “What happened to him?” since she was really interested. After one of his well-kept planes failed a crucial inspection, he was moved to a desk job.
The last thing I heard was that he was selling insurance in Toledo. Margaret’s eyes sparkled with mischief that had been sleeping for a long time. I might have sent him a copy of the first Sullivan manual when the Air Force formally used it.
Of course, with a very courteous note. Sarah laughed, and the sound filled the little kitchen. That’s the grandma I remember.
On the outside, sweet as pie; on the inside, sharp as a point. Your mom always told me I was too stubborn for my own good. Margaret thought about things while stirring her soup.
She might have been right. We might not have gone six months without communicating if I hadn’t been so stubborn. Sarah promptly said, “That was my fault.”
You were only trying to help by telling me to apply for the test pilot program. I was afraid I would fail, so I took it out on you. Margaret leaned across the table and held her granddaughter’s hand.
Sometimes we’re both too proud. It’s the curse of the Sullivan family. But today taught me that we can’t afford to be proud when time is short.
I am 73. Sarah, I don’t have decades to waste on stupid fights. Sarah said, “Don’t talk like that.”
You just got a job offer from the Air Force. You’re going to change the way maintenance is done on a whole new generation of planes, and I’ll do it. Margaret said forcefully, “But this time, I will approach it differently.”
You can’t stay quiet anymore when people need to know the truth. No more letting my job do the talking. Some people take credit for things that other people do or ignore them because they don’t meet their strict standards.
During dinner, Sarah’s phone kept buzzing. Notifications going off every few seconds. Grandma, you’re officially going viral.
Five million people have already watched the video of your speech. The secretary of the Air Force tweeted about you, and she looked at her phone with wide eyes. Congress wants you to talk about women who work in military aviation repair.
Margaret almost dropped her spoon. I don’t know anything about politics, Congress. You know what it’s like to be ignored, fired, and then prove everyone wrong by doing a great job.
Sarah said, “That’s exactly what they need to hear.” Three weeks later, Margaret Sullivan sat in front of a congressional subcommittee. Her dress blues were well ironed, and her silver hair was neatly pinned back. The same bag that had held her notes during the air show now had 50 years’ worth of records about women’s roles in military aviation.
“Congresswoman,” she said to the head of the committee, her voice firm and clear. I didn’t come up with the Sullivan processes to make a point as a woman. I did it as an American who wanted to help other Americans get home safely.
But because I was a woman, it took 18 more months for those processes to be officially adopted. We lost 12 planes that could have been saved during that period. The real cost of discrimination is not bruised sentiments, but lost lives and wasted resources.
The testimony made news all around the country. The Air Force started the Sullivan Initiative six months later. This program’s goal was to find and get rid of gender prejudice in technical disciplines. Margaret was the first director, and she worked with young female maintainers like Martinez to make sure that the mistakes of the past didn’t happen again.
But maybe the most important development happened when no one was looking. Six months after the air show, Margaret went to Davis Air Force Base to lead a workshop and ran into someone she knew. Bradley Chen was there as a student, wearing regular clothes.
He came up to her during a break. He acted completely differently. I owe you an apology, Chief Sullivan, not only for that day but for years of thinking that way.
I’ve been looking at my biases for the last six months, and now I’m here to see if you’ll let me be your student. Margaret looked at him for a long time before nodding. Everyone should have a chance to grow.
Mr. Chen, welcome to the workshop. That was the actual legacy of that day at the air show: not merely honoring past successes, but also opening minds and doors for the future. The invisible lady had become a light, showing others that there is no time limit or gender requirement for excellence. Somewhere in the Arizona sky, a 10-S kept flying, thanks to procedures developed by a lady who wouldn’t accept that she didn’t belong, demonstrating every day that she did.