Eddie Rickenbacker: Ace of Aces, Survivor Against All Odds

Edward Vernon Rickenbacker was born into struggle on October 8, 1890, in Columbus, Ohio. His parents were Swiss immigrants, hardworking but poor, raising their children in a tight-knit but tough neighborhood. Eddie was wild from the start—full of restless energy, always testing boundaries. When he was just thirteen, tragedy struck: his father died suddenly after a fight on the job. Overnight, Eddie became the man of the house. School ended, and work began. He painted signs, delivered goods, and shoveled coal. But more than anything, he gravitated toward machines. He devoured every scrap of knowledge about engines, learning by doing, tearing them apart and putting them back together again. The boy who was forced to grow up early found his refuge in gears and gasoline.

By his late teens, the automobile was exploding onto America’s roads, and Eddie saw his chance. He became a mechanic, then a racing driver, known for his fearless approach on the dirt tracks and speedways. The crowds called him “Fast Eddie,” watching him hurl himself into turns at speeds that would terrify other men. He ran in multiple Indianapolis 500 races, breaking barriers and bones along the way, crashing more than once but always crawling back into the cockpit. He lived for the roar of the engine, the smell of oil, the taste of risk. Racing taught him precision, discipline, and above all, the ability to stare death in the face and not blink. Those lessons would follow him to war.

When America entered the First World War in 1917, Eddie reinvented himself once more. Anti-German sentiment was fierce, and “Rickenbacher” became “Rickenbacker.” He volunteered to serve, hoping his reputation as a racer would open doors. At first he drove cars for generals in France, a chauffeur in uniform. But Eddie wanted wings. He pestered every commander he met until finally he was allowed into flight training. Soon he was part of the fledgling U.S. Air Service and assigned to the 94th Aero Squadron, the famed “Hat in the Ring” outfit.

The airplanes were fragile kites of wood and canvas, engines rattling, guns prone to jamming. Eddie’s first mount, the Nieuport 28, was light and agile but dangerous, its wings sometimes shredding in dives. He mastered it anyway, scoring his first victory in April 1918. Later he transitioned to the SPAD XIII, a faster, sturdier machine that suited his cool, methodical style. Where many young pilots rushed in hot-headed, Eddie was precise—studying enemy tactics, conserving ammunition, and striking only when he held the advantage.

In September 1918, when morale in the 94th was faltering, Eddie—just a lieutenant—was given command. The decision raised eyebrows: a racecar driver leading combat aviators? But Rickenbacker imposed order and sharpened his squadron into killers. He preached maintenance, discipline, teamwork, and above all, courage. He led the most dangerous missions himself—attacking heavily defended German observation balloons that directed artillery fire. He would dive through storms of anti-aircraft shells, guns hammering, to ignite the giant hydrogen-filled bags in towering fireballs. His men followed his example.

Between April and October 1918, Eddie Rickenbacker shot down twenty-six enemy aircraft—twenty planes and six balloons—becoming America’s top ace. On September 25 he made his most famous attack, alone against seven enemy machines. He dived into them without hesitation, downing two before escaping the rest. It was an act so audacious it seemed pulled from legend. For his gallantry he would later be awarded the Medal of Honor, adding to his seven Distinguished Service Crosses and French decorations. To the men on the ground, he became the embodiment of American airpower: the “Ace of Aces.”

When the guns fell silent, Eddie returned home a hero. He wrote his wartime memoir Fighting the Flying Circus, toured the country, and searched for his next challenge. He launched the Rickenbacker Motor Company, building advanced cars with dual ignition systems, though the business ultimately failed. Never one to stand still, he bought the Indianapolis Motor Speedway in 1927, guiding it through the Depression years. Later, he turned to aviation once more, climbing the corporate ladder until he took control of Eastern Air Lines. Hard-driving, demanding, and uncompromising, he built Eastern into one of the great carriers of the postwar era.

But Eddie’s old companion—death—was never far. In 1941 he was nearly killed in a DC-3 crash outside Atlanta. Thrown from the wreckage, broken in a dozen places, he hovered on the edge for weeks. Most men would have given up; Eddie clawed his way back. Only a year later, with America now at war again, he was sent on a special mission to the Pacific.

In October 1942, he boarded a B-17 bomber ferrying him across the vast ocean to deliver secret messages to General MacArthur. But the navigator missed his mark. Fuel ran out, and the great bomber ditched in the endless blue. Eddie and his companions clambered into life rafts, lashed them together, and began drifting. For twenty-four days, they floated under a merciless sun. Sharks circled. Thirst drove men to the brink of madness. One crewman died. Rickenbacker, battered from his earlier crash, rallied the others, forcing them to ration food and water, to pray, to keep fighting. When rescue finally came near the Ellice Islands, the survivors credited Eddie’s sheer will with keeping them alive. He brushed it off, insisting the mission continue before he allowed himself to return home.

Through the rest of the war he carried out inspection tours and morale-building missions, his presence alone inspiring soldiers and airmen who knew his legend. After 1945 he returned to Eastern, serving as its iron-willed president and later chairman. He finally stepped down in the 1960s, having devoted his entire life to machines, men, and the skies.

Eddie Rickenbacker’s years with Eastern Air Lines were every bit as intense and uncompromising as his combat days, though the battlefield was now boardrooms, flight schedules, and the struggle to keep an airline afloat in the turbulent mid-20th century.

After dabbling in the automotive business and presiding over the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, Rickenbacker was drawn back to aviation in the 1930s. He took over Eastern in 1935 as general manager, became president in 1938, and later bought control of the company. Where many executives saw air travel as a glamorous novelty, Rickenbacker saw it as a business that demanded discipline, efficiency, and absolute reliability—the same principles that had kept him alive in war.

He ruled Eastern with an iron hand. Employees called him “Captain Eddie,” and he carried the bearing of a squadron commander: blunt, demanding, and unwilling to tolerate excuses. He expected pilots to fly like his old combat wingmen—alert, precise, and loyal. He personally tested new aircraft, sometimes flying demonstration runs himself. He pushed Eastern to adopt cutting-edge planes like the Douglas DC-3, betting on their capacity to revolutionize commercial flying. His obsession with punctuality, safety, and profitability turned Eastern into a model for the industry.

Under his leadership, Eastern grew from a struggling carrier into one of the “Big Four” airlines in the United States. Rickenbacker was not always easy to work for—many employees bristled at his temper and his relentless standards—but his vision made Eastern a powerhouse. He believed in self-reliance and was famously reluctant to accept government subsidies or handouts, even during lean years, insisting that Eastern must “stand on its own two feet.”

By the late 1950s, however, the industry was shifting, and jet travel brought massive costs and risks. Rickenbacker’s old-school management style clashed with younger executives and government regulators. In 1959 he was forced out as president, though he remained chairman of the board until 1963. Even in retirement, he continued to lecture and write about aviation, free enterprise, and the importance of American ingenuity.

His years at Eastern Air Lines cemented his legacy not just as a warrior of the skies, but as one of the founding architects of modern commercial aviation. He had taken the discipline of the fighter squadron and applied it to an airline, transforming Eastern into a symbol of American air travel at mid-century.

On July 23, 1973, Edward Rickenbacker died in Zürich, Switzerland. He was eighty-two years old, a survivor to the last. His story is one of transformation: a poor boy turned mechanic, a racer turned warrior, a soldier turned survivor, a man who defied death at every stage of life. From the rickety streets of Columbus to the burning balloons over France, from the shattered wreckage of a DC-3 to the drifting rafts of the Pacific, Eddie Rickenbacker lived on the razor’s edge—and never once looked away.