Editor's note: This story has been archived and an updated edition will be published in 2020.

Beverly Jones, born and raised in New Britain, married in 1952, and achieved her pilot's license in 1954. She flew a “taildragger” – and while recently standing beside one similar to the family plane once flown out of Meriden-Markham Airport, she pointed out where that Cessna was always parked and ready to go. (A Cessna 120, then 140, and at last a four-seater 170 with a bigger engine.)

Her path to aviation? Well, before they were married, Mark, her late husband was in the Naval Air Corps. “But then war ended, they told him to go home, so he never got his license,” she said. As a young man “he came back home and bought a motorcycle. Had an accident in Hartford, they left him for dead. Was in a coma; when he recovered his mother put her foot down, said that motorcycle has to go. He complied with her wishes. Then went out bought an airplane. So that's how it started.”

Life unfolded; they met, married, did everything together. Since he was a pilot, Beverly became one too, a practical decision since they flew so often. She shakes her head thinking about flying cross country with a map in her lap, and that the “radio didn't work half the time, but when you're that young, you just don't think about it….”

And did they fly. To practice. For rides, on vacations. To Block Island. Out for a ride, to get ice cream. With their daughters, first one (Connie at 19 days old, that's written into a flight log), then two, then all three onboard.

So think about that; a pilot's license in 1954. Few women were flying then, so – she's a pioneer of sorts, although she will simply wave her hand at that word.