OF MISS HAZEL KEYES: 

America’s Parachuting Queen, its “Annie Oakley of the Air,” thrilled fans in the style befitting her crackshot counterpart. Of kings and queens, presidents, military generals, business magnates, and the supremely talented much might be found in the newspapers of yesteryear. Their accomplishments and missteps fill the headlines and provide the grist for eager journalists and spirited conversationalists across the decades. Of those public figures whose fame glistens in the spotlight, but a scant few repeatedly resurface during a full fifty years of news-making events. Here chronicled stands one such example. ​​​​​​​​
                                       Miss Hazel’s Perilous Plunge
      “She's a goner! What a fearful mishap! Can he save her? Will he let go?” screams an Arizona Republican reporter, bringing a terror-laden late-January 1895 Phoenix afternoon to life. “Such and many more were the horrified exclamations of spectators of the balloon ascension at the race track yesterday afternoon as the great inflated monster soared upward.” After hot air filled the cloth bag, Miss Hazel Keyes, seated upon a trapeze bar suspended beneath her balloon, had shouted “All let go!”  In that instant, the giant cloth bag sky-rocketed into the heavens, snapping the cords that held her parachute to it. “Aloft she sailed, harnessed to the balloon by a single cord, the parachute falling around and about, apparently entangling her in its inextricable folds,” reports the scribe.