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From factory floors to patrol: The pioneers who paved the way for women in policing

On National Police Woman Day, the stories of “Rosie the Riveter,” Bessie Coleman and Alice Stebbins Wells remind us that progress begins with women who refuse to accept exclusion

MOHR HALL SOUSA GOULD

“Rosie the Riveters”, from left, Louise Mohr of Silver Spring, Md. Maude Hall, Marian Sousa, both of Richmond, Calif., and Phyllis Gould of Fairfax, Calif., flex the famous “Rosie” pose following a Veterans Day ceremony at the former Ford Assembly Building in Richmond, Calif., Tuesday Nov. 11, 2003. A number of former “Rosies” were honored by Ford on the site of the Rosie the Riveter/World War II Home Front National Historical Park. During World War II the plant produced some 49,000 jeeps and was a tank depot.

AP Photo/Eric Risberg

By Carrie-Ana Carone

On National Police Woman Day, we recognize the courage of women who challenged social boundaries at a time when stepping outside prescribed roles came with real consequences. Long before equal opportunity was law or expectation, these women risked their reputations, livelihoods and personal safety to prove that women belonged in every space where decisions were made and labor was valued.

Their impact did not end with personal success. It reshaped the workforce, redefined leadership and expanded what future generations of women could imagine for themselves. Their stories remind us that progress has always required resistance.

Download this practical guide for women in policing, featuring promotion readiness checklists, oral board strategies and tools to help you prepare for the next rank

Rosie the Riveter

During World War II, the United States faced a critical labor shortage as millions of men left for military service. Factories producing aircraft, ships, weapons and ammunition urgently needed workers. At the time, women were largely expected to remain homemakers, as industrial and mechanical work was considered unsuitable — and beyond the capabilities — of women.

Out of necessity, women were recruited to fill these roles, framed as a patriotic duty and a temporary solution. When the war ended, women were expected to return quietly to domestic life.

“Rosie the Riveter” emerged as a symbol of this moment. She was not a single individual, but a representation of the millions of women who stepped into factories and shipyards, working as riveters, machinists, welders, electricians and laborers.

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By the end of the war, more than six million women had entered the workforce, accounting for roughly 35% of all U.S. workers. For many, it was the first time they had earned an independent paycheck.

The era’s now-iconic imagery — including Norman Rockwell’s “Rosie the Riveter” — depicted women as strong, confident and capable. The slogan “We Can Do It!” became synonymous with empowerment and self-belief.

When the war ended, women were pressured to step aside. But something had changed. They had proven — to themselves and to the nation — that they were capable. That realization could not be undone. “Rosie the Riveter” helped ignite the labor and feminist movements that followed in the 1960s and 1970s, as women began demanding equal pay, workplace protections and recognition.

Rosie’s legacy made one truth undeniable: the barrier was never ability — it was permission.

Bessie Coleman

Bessie Coleman’s story represents one of the most profound acts of defiance in American labor history. At a time when both racial and gender discrimination were legally and socially enforced, she refused to accept exclusion as fate.

Born in 1892 in segregated Texas, Bessie grew up with limited opportunities. Black women were largely confined to domestic or agricultural work, with professional careers entirely inaccessible. Yet Bessie was ambitious and intellectually curious.

While working as a manicurist, she listened to stories from World War I pilots and became captivated by aviation. Determined to fly, she applied to American flight schools — only to be rejected repeatedly for being both a woman and a person of color.

Rather than abandoning her dream, she learned French, saved her earnings and moved to France. In 1921, she became the first Black woman and the first Native American woman to earn a pilot’s license.

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Returning to the United States, she found that commercial aviation remained closed to her. No airline would hire her. Undeterred, Bessie created her own opportunities as a stunt pilot, performing across the country and earning national recognition.

She refused to perform at segregated events and used her platform to speak publicly about racial and gender equality. Her visibility expanded what was possible not only for women but for Black Americans whose futures had been narrowly defined.

Bessie Coleman died tragically at just 34 years old, but her legacy endures. At a time when silence ensured survival, she chose visibility and resistance. She didn’t wait for opportunity — she created it.

Alice Stebbins Wells

Alice Stebbins Wells transformed the profession of policing by challenging one of its most rigid exclusions: the absence of women with authority.

Before the early 1900s, women were barred from serving as sworn police officers. Some cities employed matrons to supervise women and children in jails, but these roles carried no badge, no arrest power and no institutional authority. Policing was considered physically dangerous and morally inappropriate for women.

Alice Stebbins Wells, a former social worker, believed otherwise.

Her work with women and children affected by crime convinced her that effective policing required empathy, prevention and community trust — not just force. These ideas were radical for the time.

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In 1910, the Los Angeles Police Department appointed her as the first female police officer in the United States, granting her full arrest powers and equal rank.

Her presence was met with resistance. Male officers questioned her authority and limited her assignments. Still, Alice persisted. She focused on juvenile crime prevention, protecting women from exploitation and educating communities about safety — approaches that would later become central to policing.

She went on to advocate nationally and internationally for women in law enforcement. By the 1920s, hundreds of cities had hired female officers, reshaping public safety systems worldwide.

Alice Stebbins Wells proved that authority is not defined by gender — and that public safety is strengthened by diverse perspectives.

Their legacy

These women didn’t just act with bravery — they carried the weight of resistance and kept moving forward anyway. They risked being dismissed, ridiculed and erased, yet they showed up and did the work regardless. Because of them, women today can pursue careers as doctors, pilots, judges, scientists and police officers without having to justify their right to exist in those spaces.

In law enforcement, that legacy is still being written. Today, women make up roughly 12-14% of sworn police officers nationwide, and their impact reaches far beyond patrol. Women serve as detectives, supervisors, commanders, chiefs and trusted leaders within their communities. They are often the ones building trust, de-escalating crises, mentoring the next generation and reminding communities that strength and compassion can coexist.

While some agencies still cling to traditional, outdated views about women in authoritative roles, women continue to break those barriers — often quietly and often without recognition. They have proven they are tough enough to do the job, capable enough to lead and resilient enough to succeed in professions that were never designed with them in mind.

Every woman who clocks in for a shift, steps onto a flight deck, walks into a factory or pins on a badge carries the legacy of those who came before her. Rosie showed women they were strong enough. Bessie proved that exclusion could be overcome with courage and determination. Alice demonstrated that authority is defined not by gender, but by service.

National Police Woman Day reminds us that progress did not happen by accident. It happened because women refused to accept the limits placed on them — and because they believed, even when the world told them otherwise, that they mattered.

NEXT: In the video below, learn why increasing the representation of women in policing can strengthen public safety and how the 30×30 Initiative is working to improve the recruitment, retention and advancement of women in law enforcement.


About the author
Carrie Carone is a retired lieutenant with the Alameda County Sheriff’s Office, where she served for more than 22 years, including as head of litigation. She is a graduate of Sacramento State University with a degree in criminal justice and is pursuing her Juris Doctor at Northwestern California University School of Law.

Carone is a published author, guest speaker and certified instructor with experience in investigations, risk management and federal court matters. Her article, “The 80/20 Rule and How It Applies to Corrections,” was published in JAILS, the American Jail Association magazine, in 2021.