Sundays on Long Island aren’t normally spent crouched under the belly of a WWII-era biplane, but not for Kate Broug. For her, it’s a familiar scene. Dressed in stone-colored jeans, a Cockpit USA flight jacket and sneakers smudged with W100 aviation grease, Broug moves with the easy grace of someone who’s done it hundreds of times before. For Broug, a NYC street-style beanie keeps the freezing air at bay, while fingerless-gloved hands grip a Wax & Wash spray bottle and a microfiber cloth – all ready to administer some tender love and care to an 82-year-old vintage aircraft.
Broug’s plane, a 1943 Boeing Stearman, has lived many lives – first as a military trainer for WWII pilots, later as an agricultural workhorse, and now, as Broug’s beloved and somewhat spoiled companion. Kate dons a pair of yellow-leather gloves, beginning what is clearly a labor of love. For most pilots in Manhattan, an almost century-old aircraft wouldn’t be an obvious first choice. But then, Broug isn’t like most pilots.
From Ballet to Biplanes: A Journey Through Time
Born in Amsterdam, Broug moved to New York City at 20 on scholarship to study modern ballet, carrying nothing but a suitcase filled with some clothes and a dream to dance on the world’s biggest stage. For nearly a decade, Broug fulfilled that dream – dancing professionally in both London and New York, before eventually trading in her pirouettes for pre-flight checks.
Even though Broug’s ballet career is now behind her, traces of that discipline remain. As Broug sways to music playing from her leather-cased iPhone – currently Smoorverliefd op Jou, a 1970s Dutch reggae-inflected pop song—she wipes residual oil off the plane’s fuselage, as if tending to something far more delicate.
Now a documentary filmmaker, journalist, pilot, and host of the TV mini-series First Flights with Kate Broug, Kate has become a prominent voice in aviation storytelling. While most of her peers take to the skies in glass-panel jets, Broug chooses a WWII-era open-cockpit biplane with aerodynamics only slightly better than a barn door.
A Love Letter to the Stearman
In photos, the Boeing Stearman might look like a toy, almost cartoonish. Something from Saturday morning cartoons. But in person, the Stearman is a beast — imposing and standing almost as tall as an elephant, with a wingspan stretching three-quarters of its length.
“Progress isn’t just about what comes next,” Broug says, wiping down a 2×2 inch Pratt & Whitney cowling label. “It’s about understanding foundations, and taking that knowledge to help build the future.” For Broug, history is something to keep alive in the air, not just in museums.
Even as more and more women take to the skies, few choose aircraft built before the jet age. The vintage aviation community remains mostly a male-dominated space, but Broug seeks to help change that. “There’s an assumption that progress means newer, faster, more automated,” she says, pausing in mid-wipe. “But I think real progress is knowing where we all came from before we decide where we’re going next.”
Nostalgia That Moves
Broug’s connection to the past runs deeper than just aviation. “The late British philosopher Roger Scruton once explained nostalgia as oikophilia, a profound longing for home. I can relate to that.” She then talks about a blue-turned-cream antique sofa from her Amsterdam home, a relic of her family’s history.
“My grandmother read to her children on that couch. Later, at birthday parties, my siblings and I would squeeze onto it when we ran out of chairs. After I moved to New York, my father would FaceTime me from it, pipe in his mouth, legs propped up like always. The day he passed away, I curled up on that couch and cried my heart out.”
As Broug runs a hand along a small tear in the fabric of the Stearman’s left wing, she makes a quick note on her phone. “That needs fixing.”
If the concept of nostalgia makes you think of stagnation, think again. Kate’s nostalgia doesn’t seem to be one of paralyzing sentiment—but instead about preservation through action.
“Just like that couch needed serious reupholstering, the Stearman demands a lot—both in upkeep and in regular flight,” she says. “There’s no autopilot, no insulation from the elements, nothing between you and the air but your own ability.”
A 15-Minute Flight That Changed Everything
Broug’s love for the Stearman wasn’t planned. At a flight school barbecue at Brookhaven Airport, four Boeing Stearmans landed one day on the grass runway and taxied to a stop. Kate was mesmerized. “At the time, I had never seen a radial engine up close before. I was so fascinated and asked one of the pilots if he could take me for a flight.”
Fifteen minutes later at 500 feet over Long Island’s North Shore, Broug was in love. The loud rumble of the engine, the open-air cockpit, the feeling of being completely connected to a humming machine—she was hooked. Fast-forward five years, and Broug now owns her very own red, white, and blue 1943 Stearman.
“I could have chosen something easier,” she admits. “A plane with a glass cockpit, GPS, all of that. But the Stearman makes you work for every bit of the experience you earn. It forces you to listen, to feel the aircraft in a way that you don’t in more modern planes.”
The Cross-Country Test
Last fall, Broug put that theory to the test. For ten days, she flew her Stearman 3,700 miles across the U.S., from San Diego to New York City retracing the training routes of WASP pilots and WWII cadets. With no modern avionics, no insulation from the elements, and an average speed of just over 100 mph, Broug’s journey was a lesson in endurance. She dodged weather systems, refueled at forgotten airfields, and landed at WWII-era training bases, where aviation history still lingers amidst the ruins. By the time Broug touched down in New York, she was windburned, exhausted, and more than a little in love with the Stearman than had become her own.
“That plane does not adapt to the pilot—you adapt to the plane.”
What’s Next? Alaska and the B-24D Liberator Wreck
With her Stearman safely tucked in its Long Island hangar, Broug’s next challenge is already in motion. Broug is off to Atka Island, Alaska, where the wreckage of a B-24D Liberator has been abandoned for decades. The goal? Locate, document, and 3D scan the wreckage, preserving its story before it disappears into the wilderness.
“It’s one thing to read about history,” she says. “But it’s another to stand where it happened, to touch what remains, to make sure it isn’t forgotten.”
More Than Just a Plane
For Broug, flying a WWII biplane is all about keeping the past alive and in motion.
As she polishes the last inches of her nine-foot propeller—nicknamed “the meat cleaver” for its infamously deadly reputation – Broug steps back, eyeing her work.
One mission complete. Another waiting on the horizon.
And she’s ready.
For more on Kate Broug’s aviation adventures, cross-country flights, and upcoming expedition to Alaska, visit katebroug.com.