A LITTLE OF WHAT THE WORLD THOUGHT OF LINDBERGH

BY
Fitzhugh Green

I
PARIS

CHARLES A. LINDBERGH was the “dark horse” of the New York to Paris flight; also he flew alone. These two facts, combined with the tragic disappearance of the French trans-Atlantic fliers, Nungesser and Coli, shortly before he left New York, emphasized the suspense with which Paris awaited his arrival.

He landed safely on a dark night about on schedule time. This was the culmination of what might be called the mechanical aspect of his success.

In consequence of these unique but rather simple circumstances it was natural that there should follow a good deal of notoriety for the flier. Already the so-called “trans-Atlantic Air Race” had received much advertising. Several planes had been grooming for the long flight; and there had been much speculation about the practicability of such an effort. Lindbergh’s landing figuratively rang the bell as the winner came under the wire.

The first man over was bound to be recognized as an audacious pioneer. Without regard for his character, creed or aspirations the world was going to come forward and say “Well done!”

The first man to fly from New York to Paris was bound to be fêted and decorated. He would tell the story of his flight and there would be ephemeral discussion of its bearing on the future of aviation. Wild speculation about the world being on the brink of a great air age would follow.

WASHINGTON, D. C.—AT ARLINGTON CEMETERY

COPY OF THE $25,000 CHECK PRESENTED BY RAYMOND ORTEIG

NEW YORK CITY—RECEIVING THE ORTEIG PRIZE MEDAL. MR. ORTEIG IS STANDING IN THE CENTRE BETWEEN COLONEL SCOTT AND MYSELF

The first man to fly from New York to Paris was bound to excite the admiration of his own countrymen. He would be met on his return by committees, have to make some speeches at banquets and receive appropriate decorations for his valor.

The first man to fly from New York to Paris would write several magazine articles and a book. He might make some money by lecturing. He would be offered contracts for moving pictures, jobs as manager of something or other, and honorary memberships in a hundred organizations of more or less doubtful value.

Then someone would break a homerun record or commit a murder; whereupon the world would forget with pitiless promptness the first man to fly the broad Atlantic.

Who, by the way, can name the dauntless pilots that circled the globe by air not so many months ago?

The reason Lindbergh’s story is different is that when his plane came to a halt on Le Bourget field that black night in Paris, Lindbergh the man kept on going.

The phenomenon of Lindbergh took its start with his flight across the ocean; but in its entirety it was almost as distinct from that flight as though he had never flown at all.

It is probable that in the three ensuing weeks Lindbergh loosed the greatest torrent of mass emotion ever witnessed in human history.

This narrative is a record of events, not an analysis. It therefore cannot pretend to explain the “phenomenon of Lindbergh.” Whether it was his modesty or his looks or his refusal to be tempted by money or by fame that won him such a following we cannot say. Perhaps the world was ripe for a youth with a winning smile to flash across its horizon and by the brilliance of his achievement momentarily to dim the ugliness of routine business, politics and crime. Many said that his sudden meteor-like appearance from obscurity was an act of Providence.

Whatever the reason for it all, the fact remains that there was a definite “phenomenon of Lindbergh” quite the like of which the world had never seen. This strange phenomenon is the opening fact of our simple narrative of events culled from a list far too long to include in the space allowed.

All who followed press accounts of the flier’s adventures after landing agree that his “meteor” did not glow in its full radiance at first. There was a faint but unmistakable artificiality in the news reports on this side of the Atlantic immediately following his arrival in Paris. To be sure, unstinted praise was poured on his courage and on the skill of his unprecedented flight. But the true Lindbergh had not yet impressed itself upon America.

His personality caught the French at the very moment when their natural enthusiasm for his deed was at its height. It was like pushing a swing just when it has started downward.

Two French aviation officers extricated him from the milling crowd at Le Bourget on arrival night and succeeded in getting him to the American Embassy where newspaper men located him at 1:30 A.M. The journalists naturally found the flier tired after having had practically no sleep for nearly sixty hours. But he was far from exhausted and he had no maudlin recital for the pencil-pushers who so eagerly surrounded him.

He awakened near noon next day. After breakfast he went out on a balcony in response to crowds in the street and for the first time after his triumph stood face to face in daylight with citizens of France. There was a burst of applause. As we have said, the first man to have flown from New York to Paris, was bound to get just this applause. Then something else happened.

We talked to one of the Diplomatic Corps who witnessed this first public appearance. He said: “The people kept on cheering and clapping and waving their hats or handkerchiefs; but I suddenly had a feeling they were applauding mechanically, as if their attention were rooted on something that fascinated them.

“I glanced up at Lindbergh to see if he were doing anything he shouldn’t do. No, he was just smiling and his ruddy face was alight with appreciation.

“I looked from Lindbergh to the crowd. Then I realized that something was going on right before my eyes that I couldn’t see. Lindbergh’s personality was reaching out and winning the French just as surely as his flight had reached out and found their city.”

That was the beginning of the “phenomenon of Lindbergh.” It grew in a steady crescendo as the days passed. We saw it full force in Washington. We saw it reach incredible heights in New York.

Procession of events fitted into and abetted development of the situation. There was the telephone conversation from Paris to his mother in Detroit four thousand miles away. His mother: the world rolled the two words around its collective tongue as might a wine connoisseur his nectar.

He called on Madame Nungesser, another mother, whose equally brave son had disappeared but a few days before in the stormy wastes of the same ocean he had crossed. Their exchange was brief, but the whole world listened and wiped away a tear. In simple compassion Lindbergh told the mother not to give up hope. You have to know the boy to feel a fraction of the reassurance he must have conveyed.

He visited the blind and crippled veterans of the great war. He smiled at them; which was enough for those who could see, who in turn ransacked their expressive tongue to explain “le joli Lindbergh” to those who couldn’t.

He called on the President of the Republic. He was dressed in plain clothes but the meeting was full of affability on both sides, with Sheldon Whitehouse of the Embassy acting as interpreter. The President pinned the Cross of the Legion of Honor upon the lapel of the boy’s borrowed suit and kissed him on both cheeks.

By this time France was alive to Lindbergh; America was waking up.

At the Aero Club of France he made his first speech. His precise laconic diction was one more step forward in the phenomenon of Lindbergh. The speech was printed widely in America. The Club was jammed that day and Minister of War Paul Painlevé, surrounded by fifty of the leading aviators of France, received the guest of honor. When the time came Herrick quietly leaned over and told Lindbergh he must respond. Whereupon the latter rose and said that Nungesser and Coli had attempted a far greater thing than he when they took-off from Paris for New York. Their difficulties had far exceeded his. In any event he urged France not to give up hope. Nothing could have been more tactful.

Ambassador Herrick’s speech which followed emphasized the strengthened good-will between France and America. “This young man from out of the west brings you better than anything else the spirit of America,” he said. “His exploit shows you that the heart of the United States beats for France. It was needed at this moment that the love of these two great people should manifest itself, and it is this young boy who has brought that about. After his European trip is over he will go back to America and he will be able to tell them as no other man could that France really loves the people of the United States.”

Thus was the idea of “ambassadorship without portfolio” initiated. When press and people, and especially statesmen, began to see how the current strain between France and America was slackening as a result of Lindbergh’s visit, the idea grew doubly strong.

On the following day he went to a large luncheon of 600 Americans at the American Club. On Wednesday he visited the French Chamber of Deputies. There was no session in progress, yet most of the members present followed him to the reception room of the President’s residence. Like ferment in wine, Lindbergh’s personality was working hour by hour.

WELCOME IN NEW YORK HARBOR

NEW YORK CITY—RIDING UP BROADWAY

Here again the increased cordiality between France and America became the keynote of the interchange. The adored General Gouraud said: “It is not only two continents that you have united, but the hearts of all men everywhere in admiration of the simple courage of a man who does great things.... You and your youth belong to that glorious band of which M. Bleriot standing here beside you was one, and which has opened the great spaces. We greet you also in the name of those others of your countrymen who, in the Lafayette Escadrille, died here for France—who, like you, helped to frame that unalterable fraternity, that indissoluble friendship which unites our two peoples.”

In like vein but with an eye to practicality Lindbergh replied:

“Gentlemen, 132 years ago Benjamin Franklin was asked: ‘What good is your balloon? What will it accomplish?’ He replied: ‘What good is a new born child?’ Less than twenty years ago when I was not far advanced from infancy M. Bleriot flew across the English Channel and was asked ‘What good is your aeroplane? What will it accomplish?’ Today those same skeptics might ask me what good has been my flight from New York to Paris. My answer is that I believe it is the forerunner of a great air service from America to France, America to Europe, to bring our peoples nearer together in understanding and in friendship than they have ever been.”

The speaker’s abrupt but unmistakable sincerity made a profound impression upon his hearers.

It is impossible to do justice to the full Paris visit. Yet it is not difficult even now to sense the ever-increasing aura of popularity and affection that surrounded Lindbergh wherever he went.

He lunched with Bleriot, the first man to fly across the English Channel, who presented him with a piece of the propeller of that famous plane of early days. He had a notable visit with Marshal Foch. He went to the Invalides surrounded by an admiring crowd. He went to the home of Marshal Joffre. He attended a formal lunch with Minister Briand.

Meanwhile a growing avalanche of mail was descending upon the Embassy. There were startling business offers running into millions of dollars. Cables from all parts of the world urged Lindbergh to write this or that, or agree to appear at highly remunerative rates under any and all circumstances. He did not handle this mail or accept any of these offers. He could not do the former, and he would not do the latter. But he was not cynical; only gravely dubious about the results of his original enterprise getting so far out of his control.

On Thursday of that Paris week came the official reception by the City. By this time the popularity of the boy held full sway. It is said that half a million people lined the streets through which the flier drove in company with his host, the Ambassador.

At the City Hall, Lindbergh received the Gold Medal of the Municipality of Paris. In a brief speech he told the Council that he believed his flight was the forerunner of a regular commercial air service between the United States and France. He added that Nungesser and Coli would have voiced the same thought if they had landed in America.

Ambassador Herrick then made one of his finest and most widely quoted speeches. “I am not a religious man,” he said, “but I believe there are certain things that happen in life which can only be described as the interpretation of a Divine Act. I would not be surprised if this flight marks the beginning of a return of that sympathy and affection which lasted 150 years between France and America. Lindbergh brought you the spirit of America in a manner in which it could never be brought in a diplomatic sack.”

Next morning Lindbergh got up at daybreak and went to Le Bourget where he found a small black Nieuport 300 H.P. fighting plane awaiting him. To the delight of the French fliers as well as the populace he went aloft and began stunting with a skill and ease that stamped him once and for all an expert. Again he rose a peg in French esteem. Nor was this a studied performance any more than his modesty in bearing or his brevity in oratory were studied. It was only another integral part of the “phenomenon of Lindbergh.”

At noon there was a luncheon at the Ministry of War. Later he was received by the Senators at the Luxembourg Palace. A reception and official visits followed. In the evening he attended a gala performance at the Champs-Élysées Theatre.

The very recital of his festivities and honors grows monotonous.

Next day he left. About eight in the morning he motored to Le Bourget and put in three hours grooming his plane for its next flight. At noon he hopped off for Brussels, circling the Eiffel Tower and dropping a note of good-by and thanks to Paris in the Place de la Concorde on his way.

II
BRUSSELS

THE Belgian reception was one of quiet dignity. King Albert had given orders that at all costs Lindbergh must come off the field untouched.

The flier landed at the Evere Flying Field near Brussels at exactly 3.15 P.M. The crowd that greeted him was never out of hand. Prime Minister Jasper came forward at once and said: “I am happy and proud, my Captain, to be the first man in the name of Belgium to extend to you our warmest felicitations for your great exploit, which not only draws nearer our two continents, but the hearts of our people as well.”

As Mr. Gibson, the new American Ambassador to Belgium, was in America at the time, his place was temporarily occupied by Mr. Dunn, Chargé d’Affaires. By him Lindbergh was presented to the Duke of Brabant, heir to the throne, who formally welcomed the visitor in the name of King Albert. Meanwhile the plane had been carefully wheeled upon a platform so that everyone might take a look at it.

After motoring to the American Embassy to change his clothes, Lindbergh laid a wreath on the tomb of Belgium’s unknown soldier.

It was at the reception at the Palace that Lindbergh met his first king. King Albert treated him with a kind informality characteristic of that much-loved monarch.

Next morning, Lindbergh slept until nearly nine. Then he went out to the Evere Airdrome, where he showed his plane to King Albert and Queen Elizabeth. King Albert in his turn took the visitor to see some late types of Belgian planes and personally explained their technical features.

At noon came the civic reception at the Hotel de Ville. When Lindbergh arrived the square was lined with troops. Burgomaster Max, with the aldermen of Brussels, was there to meet him. There was also a welcoming delegation known as the Old Volunteers of the Great War, whose members, despite their fifty years or more, had rushed in 1914 to join the colors.

Burgomaster Max made a speech in English, saying that the flight was a wonderful sporting performance. He added that because the non-stop flight from New York to Paris had appeared to be an undertaking beyond human forces, the victory was really a victory of humanity. He concluded by declaring with great feeling:

“In your glory there is glory for all men. An apparently impossible task loomed before you. You surmounted it. It is helpful and encouraging for those who think we must never despair of human effort. You must have heard many times during these five days that in crossing the ocean with your ‘Spirit of St. Louis’ you have done more than all the diplomats to bring closer together the different peoples. I repeat it myself. When a statement is being commonly used, a Burgomaster should not hesitate to express it again, as his function when he speaks is to reflect public opinion.

“In uniting by airway your young country with the old soil of Europe you have drawn nearer together these two continents and you have the right to claim the title of Citizen of the World. The way now open, others will follow you, as others tried in vain to precede you.

“I am thus certain, as we welcome you here, to express your own sentiments in mentioning with emotion the names of Nungesser and Coli who a few days ago, with an assurance as great as yours, started over the Atlantic but never reached their goal.

“In you the symbol of daring and courage is impossible not to admire.

“Heroes always consider what they have done as a simple matter. This is precisely because they are heroes. I salute in you, dear Captain Lindbergh, a noble son of your great nation which at an hour when civilization was in danger came to its help and with us conquered.”

Lindbergh replied to this speech by saying that there were two things he looked forward to when he took-off from New York—seeing France and Belgium:

“This afternoon I must leave,” he went on, “I wish I could stay here weeks instead of hours. I certainly will never forget your welcome.

“Less than twenty-five years ago, the first flight was made in an airplane. It will not be many years before we have regular trans-Atlantic service. I congratulate Belgium on her remarkable progress in aviation. You have a wonderful air force here. Aviation will be one of the great forces of the future to bring nations together.”

Then the Burgomaster took Lindbergh’s hand and presented him with a little leather case containing a gold medal inscribed in English:

“To Captain Charles Lindbergh, the City of Brussels, May 29th, 1927.”

Lindbergh left Brussels for London in the early afternoon. On his way over Belgium he paid a tribute to the American soldiers who sleep in the cemetery at Werington near Ghent. Cutting off his motor, he flew low over the field, but little above the rows of white crosses. He dropped a wreath of flowers, circled the cemetery twice, then headed out for England.

In a sense this visit to Belgium was a surer test of the man than either of the other countries. His stay was very brief; his hosts neither spoke his tongue as did the English, nor had as natural a reservoir of emotion to draw upon as did the French. Yet Lindbergh’s easy dignity, his simple bearing, and always his ready smile, were as quick to earn him the permanent friendship of King and Queen as to excite the adulation of the crowd.

It was said everywhere of him when he left: “We hope he comes back some day.” No traveller receives higher praise than that.

III
LONDON

THE flight from Brussels was comparatively simple and there was little or no strain on the plane. The pilot steered straight across the Channel, reaching England on the southeast corner.

The weather was nearly perfect; in fact Lindbergh was never privileged during his stay in England to see a real London fog.

It did not seem long before he found himself throttling his motor above the great field at Croyden on the outskirts of London. A tremendous crowd had gathered—a crowd almost as large as that which had watched him land that memorable night at Le Bourget. And again no sooner had his wheels touched the ground than this crowd, too, made a rush for his plane. Fortunately, officials of the Royal Air Club dashed up in a motor car and got the pilot aboard just in time to rescue him from the uncontrollable enthusiasm of the throng.

As in Paris, all the carefully laid plans of the reception committee were swept aside. Even Secretary for Air, Sir Samuel Hoare, and Ambassador Houghton were swallowed up by the multitude. Later another crowd, almost as large, was found waiting at the American Embassy for a glimpse of the American air traveller.

Then came welcomed rest. Lindbergh dined with some friends of the Ambassador and went to bed early. Next morning he went direct to Croyden and found that, despite his fears, very little harm had been done to his ship save for one little hole in the wing and a landing strut that had lost two bolts.

Monday was a comparatively quiet day. There was a luncheon at the Embassy attended by many persons prominent in the government and otherwise. One war hero was perhaps especially interesting to an air man. This was Lieut.-Col. W. A. Bishop, the Canadian ace, who had brought down 72 German planes.

In the afternoon a Memorial Day service was held at St. Margaret’s Church, Westminster. This honoring in England of our Civil War dead was a strange experience for the visitor. One of the veterans present, Jabez Jrayell, aged 86, had known President McKinley as a comrade in arms. After the service and sermon a procession formed, which, headed by the Stars and Stripes, moved slowly from the church to Westminster Abbey. There, Ambassador Houghton, with Lindbergh at his side, walked to a tomb and laid a wreath on which was inscribed:

“In memory of England’s unknown warrior from the American people.”

In the evening British newspaper men gave Lindbergh a dinner in the Abraham Lincoln room of the Savoy. On the speaker’s table before the guest of honor were five sandwiches and a half gallon jar of water. The Chairman gravely announced: “Captain Lindbergh will now partake of his customary meal.” After a round of laughing applause the real dinner began.

Next morning was the 31st of May. On this day Lindbergh was received by the King of England. King George talked to him alone for some time about his flight, and by his conversation showed he understood a great deal about flying. Setting aside all precedent, he personally presented Lindbergh with the Royal Air Force Cross. The only other Americans who ever received this cross were the crew of the NC-4, the United States Navy plane, which crossed the Atlantic by way of the Azores.

After his conversation with the King, Lindbergh was presented to Queen Mary. From Buckingham Palace he went to York House to be received by the Prince of Wales. The Prince wanted to know what he was going to do in the future, to which Lindbergh promptly replied: “I am going to keep on flying.”

He visited Prime Minister Baldwin at Number 10 Downing Street, the little house from which so big a slice of this world is being run. Mr. Baldwin took him out on the balcony to watch the colorful ceremony known as the Trooping of the Colors, which epitomizes the dignity and power of the British empire.

At a luncheon given by the Air Council, Lindbergh was presented with the Daily Mail’s gold aviation cup, which was instituted many years ago by the late Lord Northcliffe. Here Sir Samuel Hoare was the principal speaker. After complimenting Lindbergh on his flight he continued:

“There are some foolish people—I am glad to think there are very few of them—who are asking you the question: ‘Of what use to the world are these efforts and sacrifices? Of what use to the world is a flight like Captain Lindbergh’s?’ If I had time I should prove to them that from a technical point of view these long distant flights are of great value. They stimulate progress; they test reliability.

NEW YORK CITY’S WELCOME

NEW YORK CITY—A JUNE SNOWSTORM

“Is it not of value to the technical progress of aviation that a single air-cooled engine of 220 H. P., consuming only 10 gallons of petrol an hour, should have travelled over 3600 miles and been fit for another lap at the end of this?

“Is not a long distance flight of this kind of great value as a test of aerial navigation? Flying through fogs and storms, Captain Lindbergh never seems to have deflected from his course. Surely this experience is not only a testimony of his great skill as a navigator but also a lesson in the study of navigation. But I set aside these technical justifications, for upon a flight of this kind the world at large rightly reaches its verdict upon broader grounds. The peoples of many countries are today applauding Captain Lindbergh’s achievement not so much because some material gain will be obtained in this or that way, but because it is a fine example of nerve and endurance, of skill, courage, enterprise and adventure.

“The more drab the world becomes the more gladly we welcome such fine achievements as his.

“Today therefore I ask you to drink to the health of Captain Lindbergh as the pilot who has broken the world’s record, and as a worthy representative of our close friends and war allies, the pilots of the United States of America. Still more, however, do I ask you to drink to his health as a young man who embodies the spirit of adventure and lights up the world with a flash of courage and daring, and, I am glad to say, of success.”

In the late afternoon, at the invitation of Lord and Lady Astor, Lindbergh had tea at the House of Commons. That evening the Royal Air Club gave him a dinner at the Savoy. From there he went to a Swedish festival and at midnight attended the famous Derby Eve Ball at Albert Hall. He arrived with the Prince of Wales and as he entered the band struck up “Yankee Doodle.” There he made his shortest speech of many short ones. It was simply: “I thank you for my reception tonight. It has been one of the greatest of my life.”

On June 1st Lindbergh saw his first Derby. Three hundred thousand people had travelled to Epsom Downs to see this great traditional spectacle of horse racing. As the visiting flier was guest of Lord Lonsdale he sat in a box surrounded by royalty.

That evening was his last in England’s capital. The combined American societies of London entertained him at a banquet. After many speeches, Sir Samuel Hoare rose once more to the occasion and expressed this parting thought:

“Perhaps before long, instead of a single flight, we can induce you to make a regular habit of it. The sooner air communications are established between the two English speaking nations, the better our relations will be. You came to us as a great aviator, but I know you leave as a real friend of England. I am not sure that the latter part of your trip has not been as important as your first.

“It was a triumph of man over machinery, of man over the brute forces of nature. The flight was a tribute to the young men of the world—of the new generation which has sprung up since the war, determined to subdue the forces of nature—determined in the near future to make the air a great highway for intercourse between your people and ours.”

The day set for departure was misty. On arrival at Kinnerly Airdrome Lindbergh found conditions too difficult to fly to Paris. So there he remained that night as the guest of the Royal Air Force. But he had little sleep; for at 3:30 a messenger awakened him with word the weather was clearing.

He hopped off at 6:20 A.M. but thirty-eight minutes later, due to low visibility, he came down at Lympnel, England. At eight o’clock a big Handley Page mail and passenger plane flew over. Whereupon Lindbergh quickly went aloft and used the big ship as a guide all the way to Le Bourget.

In the afternoon he attended a ceremony at the Swedish Church in Paris and the next morning—Saturday June 5th,—he took-off for Cherbourg at 9:22 accompanied by twenty planes.

Just as he was ready to go, Costes and Rignot, the two French aviators who were leaving on their eastward trip in an effort to beat the non-stop record he had established, came over to say good-by and he wished them Godspeed.

On the way to Cherbourg Lindbergh ran into wind, rain, hail and fog. He landed there at 11:35 amid what seemed to be the entire population of the port. He was cordially welcomed by the full staff of city officials. After lunch at the Mayor’s château he was motored into the city proper, and at the Gare Maritime a plaque was unveiled commemorating the spot where he had first flown over France on his way to Le Bourget.

To avoid pressure of the crowd he jumped upon a Cunard tender at the dock and reached the fast launch of Admiral Burrage which carried him to the U.S.S. Memphis, ordered by President Coolidge to bring the flier home.

IV
WASHINGTON

IT is probable that when Lindbergh reached America he got the greatest welcome any man in history has ever received; certainly the greatest when judged by numbers; and by far the greatest in its freedom from that unkind emotion which in such cases usually springs from one people’s triumph over another.

Lindbergh’s victory was all victory; for it was not internecine, but that of our human species over the elements against which for thousands of centuries man’s weakness has been pitted.

The striking part of it all was that a composite picture of past homecoming heroes wouldn’t look any more like Charles Lindbergh did that day of his arrival in Washington than a hitching post looks like a green bay tree.

Caesar was glum when he came back from Gaul; Napoleon grim; Paul Jones defiant; Peary blunt; Roosevelt abrupt; Dewey deferential; Wilson brooding; Pershing imposing. Lindbergh was none of these. He was a plain citizen dressed in the garments of an everyday man. He looked thoroughly pleased, just a little surprised, and about as full of health and spirits as any normal man of his age should be. If there was any wild emotion or bewilderment in the occasion it lay in the welcoming crowds, and not in the air pilot they were saluting.

The cruiser Memphis, on which Lindbergh travelled, passed through the Virginia Capes on her way to Washington a few minutes after five P.M. of the afternoon of June 10. Here Lindbergh got the first taste of what was to come.

A convoy of four destroyers, two army blimps from Langley Field and forty airplanes of the Army, Navy and Marine Corps accompanied the vessel as she steamed up Chesapeake Bay. As the night fell they wheeled toward their various bases and were soon lost to view. They gave no salute; and, for all the casual observer might have noted, they were merely investigating this newcomer to their home waters. But they left an indelible impression upon those in the Memphis that the morrow was to be extraordinary.

Saturday June 11, 1927, dawned hot and clear in Washington. It was evident early in the day that something far out of the city’s peaceful summer routine was going to happen. Streets were being roped off. Special policemen were going to their posts. Airplanes flew about overhead. Citizens began gathering in little clumps up and down Pennsylvania Avenue, many seating themselves on fruit boxes and baskets as if for a long wait.

The din that greeted the Memphis off Alexandria, suburb of Washington, began the noisy welcome that lasted for several hours. Every roof top, window, old ship, wharf and factory floor was filled with those who simply had to see Lindbergh come home. Factory whistles, automobiles, church bells and fire sirens all joined in the pandemonium.

In the air were scores of aircraft. One large squadron of nearly fifty pursuit planes maneuvered in and out of the heavy vaporous clouds that hung over the river. Beneath them moved several flights of slower bombers. The giant dirigible airship, the U.S.S. Los Angeles, wound back and forth above the course of the oncoming Memphis.

By eleven o’clock the saluting began. Vice Admiral Burrage, also returning on the Memphis, received his customary fifteen guns from the Navy yard. The President’s salute of 21 guns was exchanged. Firing from the cruisers’ battery and from the shore stations lent a fine rhythmic punctuation to the constantly increasing noise from other quarters.

Just before noon the Memphis came alongside the Navy Yard dock and a gangplank was hoisted to her rail. On the shore were collected a notable group of cabinet officers and high officials. There were the Secretary of the Navy, Curtis D. Wilbur; the Secretary of War, Dwight F. Davis; Postmaster General Harry S. New; and former Secretary of State, Charles Evans Hughes. There were Admiral Edward W. Eberle, Chief of Naval Operations; Major General Mason W. Patrick and Rear Admiral William A. Moffett, heads of the Army and Navy air forces. There was Commander Richard E. Byrd who flew to the North Pole, and who later followed Lindbergh’s trail to France.

When the gangplank was in place Admiral Burrage came down it and a moment later returned with a lady on his arm. This lady was Mrs. Evangeline Lindbergh, the young pilot’s mother.

Instantly a new burst of cheering went up; but many wept—they knew not just why.

For a few minutes mother and son disappeared into a cabin aboard the Memphis. It was a nice touch; something more than the brass bands and cheering. And it somehow symbolized a great deal of what was being felt and said that hot morning in our country’s great capital.

Next came brief and a somewhat informal greeting by the dignitaries. In their glistening high silk hats they surrounded Lindbergh and for a bit shut him off from the pushing perspiring crowd still held at bay ashore by the bayonets of the marines.

Suddenly the crowd could hold its patience no longer. With one frantic push it broke through the ranks of “Devil Dogs” and swarmed down upon the moored vessel. Trouble was averted by the simple expedient of getting Lindbergh quickly into one of the waiting cars and starting for the Navy Yard gate.

The parade escort had been lined up some hours ahead of time. Now it got under way toward the center of the city, leading the automobiles that carried the official party. Clattering hoofs of cavalrymen, blare of bands and a rolling cheer along the ranks of waiting thousands marked the progress of the young American flier who had so gloriously come home.

Here for the first time Lindbergh saw the spirit in which his people were to greet him. They were curious, yes; crowds always are on such occasions. And they were gay with their handclapping and flag-waving, shouting and confetti throwing. But there was a note of enthusiasm everywhere that transcended just a chorus of holiday seekers witnessing a new form of circus. There was something deeper and finer in the way people voiced their acclaim. Many of them wiped their eyes while they laughed; many stood with expressionless faces, their looks glued upon the face of the lad who had achieved so great a thing and yet seemed to take it all so calmly.

When the parade reached the natural amphitheatre of the Washington Monument the hillsides were jammed with a great gathering of men, women and children. On the high stand that had been erected, the President of the United States and Mrs. Coolidge waited to receive the man who but three weeks and a day before had been a comparatively unknown adventurer hopping off for Paris by air.

Ranged about the President were the ambassadors of many foreign countries, members of the diplomatic corps with their wives and daughters, and nearly all the high officials of the government.

When Lindbergh mounted the stand the President came forward and grasped his hand. Those closest to Mr. Coolidge say that rarely has he shown the unrestrained cordiality he put into that simple greeting.

The President now moved to the front of the stand and waited for the applause to be stilled. Presently, when the multitude again was quiet, he began slowly to speak:

“My Fellow-Countrymen:

“It was in America that the modern art of flying of heavier-than-air machines was first developed. As the experiments became successful, the airplane was devoted to practical purposes. It has been adapted to commerce in the transportation of passengers and mail and used for national defense by our land and sea forces.

“Beginning with a limited flying radius, its length has been gradually extended. We have made many flying records. Our Army fliers have circumnavigated the globe. One of our Navy men started from California and flew far enough to have reached Hawaii, but being off his course, landed in the water. Another officer of the Navy has flown to the North Pole. Our own country has been traversed from shore to shore in a single flight.

“It had been apparent for some time that the next great feat in the air would be a continuous flight from the mainland of America to the mainland of Europe. Two courageous Frenchmen made the reverse attempt and passed to a fate that is as yet unknown.

“Others were speeding their preparations to make the trial, but it remained for an unknown youth to attempt the elements and win. It is the same story of valor and victory by a son of the people that shines through every page of American history.

“Twenty-five years ago there was born in Detroit, Michigan, a boy representing the best traditions of this country, of a stock known for its deeds of adventure and exploration.

“His father, moved with a desire for public service, was a member of Congress for several years. His mother, who dowered her son with her own modesty and charm, is with us today. Engaged in the vital profession of school-teaching, she has permitted neither money nor fame to interfere with her fidelity to her duties.

“Too young to have enlisted in the World War, her son became a student at one of the big State universities. His interest in aviation led him to an Army aviation school, and in 1925 he was graduated as an airplane pilot. In November, 1926, he had reached the rank of Captain in the Officers’ Reserve Corps.

NEW YORK CITY—THE PARADE PASSING THROUGH CENTRAL PARK WHERE OVER 400,000 PEOPLE WERE GATHERED. A SOLID BANK OF HUMANITY FLANKED OUR PASSAGE

NEW YORK CITY—PARADE IN CENTRAL PARK AS SEEN FROM A NEARBY SKYSCRAPER

“Making his home in St. Louis, he had joined the 110th Observation Squadron of the Missouri National Guard. Some of his qualities noted by the Army officers who examined him for promotion, as shown by reports in the files of the Militia Bureau of the War Department, are as follows:

“‘Intelligent,’ ‘industrious,’ ‘energetic,’ ‘dependable,’ ‘purposeful,’ ‘alert,’ ‘quick of reaction,’ ‘serious,’ ‘deliberate,’ ‘stable,’ ‘efficient,’ ‘frank,’ ‘modest,’ ‘congenial’ ‘a man of good moral habits and regular in all his business transactions.’

“One of the officers expressed his belief that the young man ‘would successfully complete everything he undertakes.’ This reads like a prophecy.

“Later he became connected with the United States Mail Service, where he exhibited marked ability, and from which he is now on leave of absence.

“On a morning just three weeks ago yesterday this wholesome, earnest, fearless, courageous product of America rose into the air from Long Island in a monoplane christened ‘The Spirit of St. Louis’ in honor of his home and that of his supporters.

“It was no haphazard adventure. After months of most careful preparation, supported by a valiant character, driven by an unconquerable will and inspired by the imagination and the spirit of his Viking ancestors, this reserve officer set wing across the dangerous stretches of the North Atlantic.

“He was alone. His destination was Paris.

“Thirty-three hours and thirty minutes later, in the evening of the second day, he landed at his destination on the French flying field at Le Bourget. He had traveled over 3,600 miles, and established a new and remarkable record. The execution of his project was a perfect exhibition of art.

“This country will always remember the way in which he was received by the people of France, by their President and by their Government. It was the more remarkable because they were mourning the disappearance of their intrepid countrymen, who had tried to span the Atlantic on a western flight.

“Our messenger of peace and good-will had broken down another barrier of time and space and brought two great peoples into closer communion. In less than a day and a half he had crossed the ocean over which Columbus had traveled for sixty-nine days and the Pilgrim Fathers for sixty-six days on their way to the New World.

“But, above all, in showering applause and honors upon this genial, modest American youth, with the naturalness, the simplicity and the poise of true greatness, France had the opportunity to show clearly her good-will for America and our people.

“With like acclaim and evidences of cordial friendship our Ambassador without portfolio was received by the rulers, the Governments and the peoples of England and Belgium. From other nations came hearty messages of admiration for him and for his country. For these manifold evidences of friendship we are profoundly grateful.

“The absence of self-acclaim, the refusal to become commercialized, which has marked the conduct of this sincere and genuine exemplar of fine and noble virtues, has endeared him to every one. He has returned unspoiled.

“Particularly has it been delightful to have him refer to his airplane as somehow possessing a personality and being equally entitled to credit with himself, for we are proud that in every particular this silent partner represented American genius and industry. I am told that more than 100 separate companies furnished materials, parts or service in its construction.

“And now, my fellow-citizens, this young man has returned. He is here. He has brought his unsullied fame home. It is our great privilege to welcome back to his native land, on behalf of his own people, who have a deep affection for him and have been thrilled by his splendid achievement, a Colonel of the United States Officers’ Reserve Corps, an illustrious citizen of our Republic, a conqueror of the air and strength for the ties which bind us to our sister nations across the sea.

“And, as President of the United States, I bestow the Distinguished Flying Cross, as a symbol of appreciation for what he is and what he has done, upon Colonel Charles A. Lindbergh.”

Upon completing this address the President then conferred upon Lindbergh the Distinguished Flying Cross.

A new burst of cheering went up as the medal was being pinned on by the President. It was at this point in the proceedings that the Secretary of the Navy, ordinarily most placid of men, is alleged to have waved his arm in the air like a college cheer leader and hurrahed as loudly as any. When quiet came again Lindbergh rose and replied to the President. What he said was brief. But had he uttered a hundred times as many words, he could scarcely have conveyed a more important message to those about him.

He said: “On the evening of May 21, I arrived at Le Bourget, France. I was in Paris for one week, in Belgium for a day and was in London and in England for several days. Everywhere I went, at every meeting I attended, I was requested to bring a message home to you. Always the message was the same.

“‘You have seen,’ the message was, ‘the affection of the people of France for the people of America demonstrated to you. When you return to America take back that message to the people of the United States from the people of France and of Europe.’

“I thank you.”

This is no place to dwell upon the minutiæ of that great day. The picture must be sketched in with bold strokes and stippled background. But it is impossible to pass this one short speech of Lindbergh’s and not cajole the reader to gather something of its significance. In a sentence it tells the story of the flight; it gives what the speaker considered his immediate and outstanding achievement; and it phrases that achievement in words so touching and so eloquent that France and America, half-estranged through wretched debt, rang with them for days.

The final touch of the miracle was that this speech was extemporaneous.

Just as when Lincoln finished his Gettysburg address his listeners sat stunned at the very brevity of it, so was there a curious silence immediately following Lindbergh’s utterance. Then came long applause. Hats were not thrown in the air. But men and women clapped until their palms were numb. Again many wept. A radio announcer whose stock-in-trade was routine emotional appeal, broke down and sobbed.

More and more people were beginning to realize that something was happening far greater than just the celebration of a mechanical triumph over the ocean separating Europe from America.

The ceremony ended as simply and quickly as it had begun. The President’s own car whisked Lindbergh away to the temporary White House in Dupont Circle. A curious and eager crowd lingered there behind police lines throughout the afternoon. From time to time their demanding cheers could be silenced only by Lindbergh’s smiling presence at the door or balcony.

President and Mrs. Coolidge entertained members of the Cabinet and their wives that night. Lindbergh sat on Mrs. Coolidge’s right. He wore conventional evening dress and was distinguished by the ease and simplicity with which he met both sallies and inquiries of the imposing guests.

It is one of the cruelties of social lionization that we search for the peculiarities of our specimen. In Lindbergh’s case his peculiarity lay in the fact that neither by word, nor look, nor deed was he in any way grotesque. His eyes were clear, his smile quick; like a practised diplomat he eluded entangling discussion; and he had a ready reply for every intelligent inquiry put to him within his range of knowledge or experience.

It is at risk of dampening the ardor of our narrative that we repeatedly point to this trait of simplicity that lies in Lindbergh. We do so because it was from close within the nucleus of this trait that there sprung the incredible emotional reaction towards his personality.

After the President’s dinner Lindbergh attended a meeting of the National Press Club in the Washington Auditorium. This was his first public appearance “under roof” in America. Six thousand people risked imminent heat stroke by crowding into every seat and cranny of the building.

The program opened with an address on behalf of the Press Club by Richard V. Oulahan. Because this address illuminated the feelings of the “Fourth Estate,” proverbially cynical toward notoriety, we give it here in full:

“In your journalistic flight of the past three weeks,” said Mr. Oulahan, you must have learned that much may be read between the lines of what is printed in newspapers. So even a novice in newspaperdom like yourself would have no trouble in reading between the lines of this journalistic expression an intimate note of sincere affection.

“We of the press rub elbows with all manner of mankind. We see much of good but we see much of self-seeking, of sordid motive, as we sit in the wings watching the world’s procession pass across the stage. If it is true that through our contacts we are sprinkled with a coating of the dry dust of cynicism, that dust was blown away in a breath, as it were, when our professional brethren who greeted you overseas broadcast the news of your peerless exploit. To Americans it brought a spontaneous feeling of pride that you were of their nationality.

“The whole world was carried off its feet by an accomplishment so daring, so masterful in execution, so superb in achievement, by the picture presented of that onrushing chariot of dauntless youth, flashing across uncharted heavens straight through the storm’s barrage.

“But if the press, with such an inspiration, performed its mission well, it found equal inspiration. It performed as fine a mission in chronicling the subsequent conduct of our young Ambassador of Good Will. His words and bearing dissipated vapors of misunderstanding. He personified, to a Europe amazed at the revelation, the real spirit of America.

“The press should be proud then, if in telling the story of this later phase in the career of the American boy, it brought to the peoples of the world a new realization that clean living, clean thinking, fair play and sportsmanship, modesty of speech and manner, faith in a mother’s prayers, have a front page news value intriguing imagination and inviting emulation, and are still potent as fundamentals of success.”

Postmaster General New then stepped forward and gave Lindbergh the first special air mail stamp. As he handed it to the flier he said:

“It is as a pilot in the service of the Air Mail that I greet you. There is no public service devoted to the peace time of the public whose past and present are attended by the romance that are attached to the history of the Post Office Department of the United States.

“From the single couriers of the early days, who followed the uncertain trails through wood and fen on horseback and on foot, the picturesque riders of the pony express of a later day, who risked their lives at the hands of savage foes in the wilderness, the drivers who serve amid the rigors of the frozen North with dog teams and sleds, to those intrepid pilots who pierce the night with the air mail and of whom you are a worthy representative, the whole story is set in an atmosphere of most engaging romance.

“It has no titles to bestow—no medal it can add to those that have been given in recognition of your splendid achievement. There is one thing, however, it can do that will everywhere be regarded as most appropriate. It has issued a stamp designed for special use with the air mail which bears your name and a representation of the other member of that very limited partnership in which you made your now famous journey across seas. It is the first time a stamp has been issued in honor of a man still living—a distinction which you have worthily won.

“It is my great pleasure to be privileged to present to you, and to the mother who gave you to this service, the first two copies of this issue as the best evidence of the enduring regard of the Post Office Department of the United States.”

These speeches are quoted because better than almost any other capturable entity of those days they reflect the wide scope of the effect Lindbergh’s success had on both governmental and business routine. Surely it is difficult to conceive of a military victor shaking so many foundations, no matter what the might of his mailed fist.

Secretary of State Kellogg next presented Lindbergh with a memorial volume consisting of a compilation of diplomatic exchanges between the State Department and the Foreign Offices of the world in connection with the flight. His words lined in a little more of the bewildering picture of the world’s admiration enfolding before Lindbergh’s frankly astonished gaze.

“Colonel Charles A. Lindbergh,” he slowly and ponderously began, staring hard at the object of his eulogy. “On May 20th and 21st, 1927, the world was electrified by the news of your non-stop flight from New York to Paris. It was a marvelous accomplishment requiring the highest courage, skill and self-reliance. Probably no act of a single individual in our day has ever aroused such universal enthusiasm and admiration. Your great deed is a mile-stone marking scientific advancement.

“You have been congratulated by Kings and Presidents. You have listened to the plaudits of thousands and thousands in Europe and you know the tributes which have been justly paid to you by millions more. You do not now realize the thousands who have expressed their congratulations in letters and telegrams. I have had printed in this little volume only the official telegrams which passed through the Department of State and I take pleasure in presenting to you this volume in commemoration of your epochal achievement.

“Along the highway of human progress, as we look back over the last half century we marvel at the progress in science, the arts and invention. Truly this is a marvelous age and your daring feat will pass into the pages of history.”

Then came Dr. Charles G. Abbott, Acting Secretary of the Smithsonian Institute who informed Lindbergh that the Institute had decided to award him the Langley “Medal of Pioneers.” This honor has in the past been bestowed upon a small but distinguished group such as Orville Wright, Glenn H. Curtiss and Gustave Eiffel. Thus was added to the tribute of press and state the commendation of one of the oldest and finest scientific bodies in the world.

Followed next a medley of messages from special organizations. Greetings from cities touched by Lindbergh in his historic flight from San Diego to Paris were read. St. Louis sent a moving reminder that her people were “waiting for you now impatiently ... waiting since that gray morning when you launched out over the clouds and the sea for Paris.”

There was one from the British Government, something almost without precedent when it is considered that its recipient was a private citizen on a private enterprise. The official bearer read:

“I have been desired by the British Government to express to Colonel Lindbergh on this occasion in behalf of all the people of Great Britain their warm congratulations on the safe return home after his historic flight across the Atlantic. The British people regard Colonel Lindbergh with special admiration and affection not only for his great courage and resource, but also for his equally great modesty in success and generosity in giving their due to other aviators who have gone before.”

NEW YORK CITY—SPEAKING AT THE CEREMONIES IN CENTRAL PARK. GOVERNOR SMITH OF NEW YORK BEHIND THE “MIKE”

BROOKLYN, N. Y.—SPEAKING AT THE CEREMONIES IN PROSPECT PARK

At the end of this bewildering array of orations and gifts the speaker of the evening was announced. One has only to put oneself in Lindbergh’s place after reading some of the eloquence listed above to admire the moral courage it took to face that huge audience and once more speak with directness and precision of the things nearest his heart—things often furthest from the burden of the discourse:

“I want to express my appreciation of the reception I’ve met in America and the welcome I have received here tonight.” It was plain the flier was going to cover another field than the infinitely delicate one he had touched earlier in the day. “When I landed at Le Bourget a few weeks ago, I landed with the expectancy and hope of being able to see Europe. It was the first time I had ever been abroad. I had seen a number of interesting things when I flew over Ireland and Southern England and France. I had only been gone from America two days or a little less, and I wasn’t in any particular hurry to get back.

“But by the time I had been in France a week, Belgium a day and England two or three days—by that time I had opened several cables from America and talked with three Ambassadors and their attachés and found that it didn’t make much difference whether I wanted to stay or not: and while I was informed that it was not necessarily an order to come back home, there was a battleship waiting for me.

“The Ambassador said this wasn’t an order, but advice,” the aviator added.

“So on June 4 I sailed on the Memphis from Cherbourg and this morning as I came up the Potomac I wasn’t very sorry that I had listened to it.

“There were several things I saw in Europe that are of interest to American aviation. All Europe looks on our air mail service with reverence. There is nothing like it anywhere abroad.

“But, whereas we have airlines, they have passenger lines. All Europe is covered with a network of lines carrying passengers between all the big cities. Now it is up to us to create and develop passenger lines that compare with our mail routes. For this we have natural advantages in the great distances here that lend themselves to rapid transportation by air. Moreover, we can make these long trips without the inconvenience of passing over international boundaries.

“The question comes up, ‘Why has Europe got ahead of us in commercial airlines?’ The reason is, of course, that the Governments over there give subsidies. I don’t think we want any subsidies over here. Of course, if we had them they would create passenger lines overnight, so to speak, but in the long run the airlines, the distance they covered and the routes would be controlled entirely by the subsidies.

“What we need now more than any other one thing is a series of airports in every city and town throughout the United States. Given these airports, in a very few years the nations of Europe would be looking toward our passenger lines as they now look at our mail routes.”

Sunday was another full day. Under able guidance of the Chief Executive, Lindbergh did the things every good American would expect him to do. And, as one who has seen the lad at close range, we can say that he did them gladly and with profound appreciation for the privilege of doing them. After you come to know him you find out that’s the kind he is.

He went to church with President and Mrs. Coolidge. Accompanied by his mother he laid a wreath upon the tomb of the Unknown Soldier in the great memorial amphitheatre in Arlington Cemetery. He drove to Georgetown and visited the wounded soldiers at Walter Reed Hospital. He attended a celebration in honor of the 150th anniversary of the American flag, for which services were held on the steps of the Capitol and presided over by Charles Evans Hughes.

It was at this last ceremony that Lindbergh received the Cross of Honor. His response to the honor was brief and typically to the point. He declared that credit for his flight should “not go to the pilot alone but to American science and genius which had given years of study to the advancement of aeronautics.”

“Some things should be taken into consideration in connection with our flight that have not heretofore been given due weight. That is just what made this flight possible. It was not the act of a single pilot. It was the culmination of twenty years of aeronautical research and the assembling together of all that was practicable and best in American aviation. It represented American industry.

“In addition to this consideration should be given the scientific researches that have been in progress for countless centuries. All of this should have consideration in apportioning credit for the flight. Credit should go not alone to the pilot, but to the other factors that I have briefly enumerated. I thank you.”

This was the day well worthy of what Lindbergh had done and what he stood for. And again, by the spiritual values it comprised, it struck the inspirational note which had dominated almost everything the lad has done or said from the moment of his landing at Le Bourget to the moment of this writing.

Is it any wonder that the populace responded as it did?

V
NEW YORK

ON Monday morning, June 13, Lindbergh rose at dawn and reached the Mayflower Hotel at 6:45 A.M. for breakfast with the National Aeronautical Association, which conferred a life membership upon him.

He reached Bolling Field outside Washington at about 7:30 A.M. Here rose the only incident to mar his otherwise flawless happiness in the welcome he had received. His plane refused to “mote.” It didn’t actually rebel. But there was sufficient irregularity in its engine to discourage him from risking delay when New York City was almost every minute voicing its impatience that he hurry to the celebration awaiting him there. A pursuit plane was quickly obtained from an army field and he was soon in the air with his escort of more than a score of ships.

The course of the group led them over Baltimore, Wilmington and Philadelphia. Eyewitnesses later reported that demonstrations took place at every one of these places as the air cavalcade went by. Of course those in the planes, thousands of feet in the air and deafened by the roar of their motors, heard nothing of the bells and whistles that saluted them as they passed.

Lindbergh arrived at Mitchel Field about noon. As he had flown in a land plane and was to be met in the lower harbor by the mayor’s yacht, he had to make a quick change to an amphibian. This ship happened to be the San Francisco which had but recently returned from her “good-will” flight to South America.

She took-off from dry land and a few minutes later volplaned down to the water just above the Narrows.

Here a sight met Lindbergh’s eyes that old harbor inhabitants declare was absolutely without precedent in the marine annals of New York. Even the famous Hudson-Fulton Exposition with its vast water parades and maneuvers was exceeded.

In the sparkling sunshine of a perfect June morning was gathered half a thousand vessels of every kind and description. Excursion boats, yachts, tugs, motor boats, launches, fireboats, even dredges, formed the spectacular array of shipping gathered to meet the man who had made the proudest of surface craft, the ocean liner, a back number on the sea.

A police launch swung up to the San Francisco and took Lindbergh aboard. He was brought to the Macom, yacht of the Mayor of New York, amid a deafening chorus of whistles. Indeed, so great was the din that conversation among the welcoming committees was quite impossible and remained so throughout the hour’s voyage to the Battery.

As the Macom moved forward the huge disorderly fleet of crowding vessels swung into rough column behind her. Massive ocean going tugs and fireboats clung close aboard to guard her from too curious craft who sought to wedge their way in toward the yacht for a better look at the bare-headed boy standing atop her pilot house.

As in Washington, the air was well filled with planes. Their motors’ roar lent a sort of solemn undertone to the shrieking chorus of whistles and sirens.

There was an interview below decks. It was not very successful. The whistles made too much noise and Lindbergh very properly refused to discuss his “feelings”, which are meat and drink to the writing man.

It was estimated that 300,000 people were massed in the vicinity of the Battery when the Macom hove alongside. Lining the streets clear to Central Park was a multitude that was variously estimated from 3,000,000 to 4,500,000. Scores of people were in their places before eight A.M. on upper Fifth Avenue. Lindbergh did not pass them until three P.M. Traffic was disrupted. Police control was strained to its utmost.

As evidence of the almost unanimous turnout for the occasion, the Police Department of the City issued special instructions to all citizens about leaving their houses protected against thieves, something that hadn’t been done for a generation.

When the cavalcade with Lindbergh leading started up Broadway there came the famous New York “snow storm” consisting of a myriad paper bits and confetti streamers floating downward from the skyscrapers. Photographs do scant justice to the spectacle.

At the City Hall Mayor Walker expressed the city’s sentiments with a felicity that deserves their record here. He spoke more informally than most had spoken in Washington; by the same token he echoed through his easily forgivable eloquence much that the inarticulate thousands waiting without the lines would like to have said.

He struck right at the heart of things when he began:

“Let me dispense with any unnecessary official side or function, Colonel, by telling you that if you have prepared yourself with any letters of introduction to New York City they are not necessary.

“Everybody all over the world, in every language, has been telling you and the world about yourself. You have been told time after time where you were born, where you went to school, and that you have done the supernatural thing of an air flight from New York to Paris. I am satisfied that you have become convinced of it by this time.

“And it is not my purpose to reiterate any of the wonderful things that have been so beautifully spoken and written about you and your triumphal ride across the ocean. But while it has become almost axiomatic, it sometimes seems prosaic to refer to you as a great diplomat, because after your superhuman adventure, by your modesty, by your grace, by your gentlemanly American conduct, you have left no doubt of that. But the one thing that occurs to me that has been overlooked in all the observations that have been made of you is that you are a great grammarian, and that you have given added significance and a deeper definition to the word ‘we.’

“We have heard, and we are familiar with, the editorial ‘we,’ but not until you arrived in Paris did we learn of the aeronautical ‘we.’ Now you have given to the world a flying pronoun.

“That ‘we’ that you used was perhaps the only word that would have suited the occasion and the great accomplishment that was yours. That all-inclusive word ‘we’ was quite right, because you were not all alone in the solitude of the sky and the sea, because every American heart, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, was beating for you. Every American, every soul throughout the world, was riding with you in spirit, urging you on and cheering you on to the great accomplishment that is yours.

“That ‘we’ was a vindication of the courage, of the intelligence, of the confidence and the hopes of Nungesser and Coli, now only alive in the prayers and the hearts of the people of the entire world. That ‘we’ that you coined was well used, because it gave an added significance and additional emphasis to the greatest of any and all ranks, the word of faith, and turned the hearts of all the people of the civilized world to your glorious mother, whose spirit was your spirit, whose confidence was your confidence, and whose pride was your pride; the ‘we’ that includes all that has made the entire world stand and gasp at your great feat, and that ‘we’ also sent out to the world another message and brought happiness to the people of America, and admiration and additional popularity for America and Americans by all the peoples of the European countries.

“Colonel Lindbergh, on this very platform are the diplomatic corps, the diplomatic representatives of all the countries of the civilized world; but before you and around you are the peoples themselves of all the countries of the civilized world, foregathered in this city, the greatest cosmopolitan institution in all the world; the peoples who have come from the forty-eight States of the Union and from every country of the civilized world; and here today, as Chief Magistrate of this city, the world city, the gateway to America, the gateway through which peoples from the world have come in the search for liberty and freedom—and have found it—here today let it be written and let it be observed that the Chief Magistrate of this great city, the son of an immigrant, is here to welcome as the world’s greatest hero, another son of an immigrant.

“What more need I call to your attention, in view of the busy life that you have been leading and have the right to expect to lead? What more can we say as we foregather in the streets of this old city? And today, not by the words alone of the Mayor, or the beautifully written words of a scroll, as you stand here I am sure you hear something even more eloquent and glorious. You can hear the heart-beats of six millions of people that live in this the City of New York. And the story they tell is one of pride, is one of admiration for courage and intelligence; is one that has been born out of and is predicated upon the fact that as you went over the ocean you inscribed on the heavens themselves a beautiful rainbow of hope and courage and confidence in mankind.

“Colonel Lindbergh, New York City is yours—I don’t give it to you; you won it. New York not only wants me to tell you of the love and appreciation that it has for your great venture, but is deeply and profoundly grateful for the fact that again you have controverted all the old rules and made new ones of your own, and kind of cast aside temporarily even the weather prophets, and have given us a beautiful day.

“So, just another word of the happiness, the distinction and the pride which the City of New York has today to find you outside this historical building, sitting side by side with your glorious mother, happy to find you both here, that we might have the opportunity and a close-up, to tell you that like the rest of the world—but because we are so much of the world, even with a little greater enthusiasm than you might find in any other place in the world—I congratulate you and welcome you into the world city, that you may look the world in the face.”

Mayor Walker pinned the Medal of Valor upon the lapel of Lindbergh’s coat. Whereupon Lindbergh for the first time gave in some detail his sense of the size of the welcome he had received:

“When I was preparing to leave New York, I was warned that if we landed at Le Bourget we might receive a rather demonstrative reception. After having an hour of Le Bourget I did not believe that anyone in New York had the slightest conception of what we did receive. Again, at Brussels and at London. At London thirteen hundred of the pride of Scotland Yard were lost in the crowd at Croydon as though they had been dropped in the middle of the ocean. With the exception of a few around the car and around the plane, I never saw more than two at any one time.

“THE SPIRIT OF ST. LOUIS” AFTER HER RETURN

MITCHEL FIELD, L. I.—AFTER THE FLIGHT TO WASHINGTON

“At Washington I received a marvelous reception. But at New York I believe that all four put together would be in about just the position of those London bobbies.

“When I landed at Le Bourget I landed looking forward to the pleasure of seeing Europe and the British Isles. I learned to speak of Europe and the British Isles after I landed in London. I had been away from America a little less than two days. I had been very interested in the things I saw while passing over southern England and France, and I was not in any hurry to get back home.

“By the time I had spent about a week in France and a short time in Belgium and England, and had opened a few cables from the United States, I found that I did not have much to say about how long I would stay over there.”

Lindbergh paused for the laughter to subside. This point always tickled people greatly.

“So I left Europe and the British Isles with the regret that I had been unable to see either Europe or the British Isles. When I started up the Potomac from the Memphis I decided that I was not so sorry that I had taken the Ambassador’s advice. After spending about an hour in New York I know I am not.”

The parade now formed again and moved up Broadway, through Lafayette Street, to Ninth and over to Fifth. At Madison Square it halted at the Shaft of Eternal Light. The ceremony was touching and impressive. The tall shaft topped by a crystal star, imprisoning light everlasting, was a fitting memorial to the men who gave up their lives in the World War. Lindbergh here laid a wreath in their memory.

Fifth Avenue had been packed with people since morning. It was now mid-afternoon. As in Washington a wave of cheering marked the progress of the car which held the city’s guest of honor.

At St. Patrick’s Cathedral he stopped, got out of his automobile and met Cardinal Hayes.

In Central Park the official city welcome ended amid a gathering estimated at above 300,000 people. Bands were playing and automobile horns added to the din.

Governor Smith of New York was waiting there with his staff on a specially built reviewing stand. He pinned on Lindbergh the State Medal of Honor: adding again to the ever lengthening list of honors. There was again an exchange of speeches met by salvos of applause. A sky writer wrote “Hail Lindy” high in the air. Policemen wrestled with swaying crowds. More than on the avenue it seemed as if the city were concentrated for a Lindbergh it would never forget.

Near five the great demonstration came to an end. For a few hours the center of attraction could escape to the refuge that had been prepared for him and his mother in a private apartment. But this escape was qualified by the fact that it took a large guard to hold in check the many people who sought access to Lindbergh for one reason or another.

At 8:15 P.M. he rode out on Long Island to the beautiful estate of Clarence Mackay, head of the Postal Telegraph Company. The place had been transformed into a fairyland of colored Japanese lanterns, fountains and illuminated shrubbery. Eighty of New York’s most prominent people attended the dinner which was kingly in its appointments. Later several hundred guests came in for dancing.

It would have seemed that this first terrific day might have exhausted the ardor of the city’s welcome. But there followed a kaleidoscopic week that was, if anything, more trying. Not only did Lindbergh move amid a growing chorus of business offers, but his social engagements jammed tighter and tighter as the hours passed. Moreover, his plane was still in Washington, although he was scheduled to fly it to St. Louis for the week-end.

The City of New York gave Lindbergh a dinner of some 4000 guests at the Hotel Commodore. It was there that Mr. Hughes spoke the following unique tribute:

“When a young man, slim and silent, can hop overnight to Paris and then in the morning telephone his greetings to his mother in Detroit; when millions throughout the length and breadth of this land and over sea through the mysterious waves, which have been taught to obey our command, can listen to the voice of the President of the United States according honors for that achievement, honors which are but a faint reflection of the affection and esteem cherished in the hearts of the countryman of the West who distinguished America by that flight, then indeed is the day that hath no bother; then is the most marvelous day that this old earth has ever known.

“We measure heroes as we do ships by their displacement. Colonel Lindbergh has displaced everything. His displacement is beyond all calculation. He fills all our thought; he has displaced politics, Governor Smith.

“For the time being, he has lifted us into the freer and upper air that is his home. He has displaced everything that is petty; that is sordid; that is vulgar. What is money in the presence of Charles A. Lindbergh?

“What is the pleasure of the idler in the presence of this supreme victor of intelligence and industry? He has driven the sensation mongers out of the temples of our thought. He has kindled anew the fires on the eight ancient altars of that temple. Where are the stories of crime, of divorce, of the triangles that are never equalateral? For the moment we have forgotten. This is the happiest day, the happiest day of all days for America, and as one mind she is now intent upon the noblest and the best. America is picturing to herself youth with the highest aims, with courage unsurpassed; science victorious. Last and not least, motherhood, with her loveliest crown.

“We may have brought peoples together. This flight may have been the messenger of good-will, but good-will for its beneficent effects depends upon the character of those who cherish it.

“We are all better men and women because of this exhibition in this flight of our young friend. Our boys and girls have before them a stirring, inspiring vision of real manhood. What a wonderful thing it is to live in a time when science and character join hands to lift up humanity with a vision of its own dignity.

“There is again revealed to us, with a startling suddenness, the inexhaustible resources of our national wealth. From an unspoiled home, with its traditions of industry, of frugality and honor, steps swiftly into our gaze this young man, showing us the unmeasured treasures in our minds of American character.

“America is fortunate in her heroes; her soul feeds upon their deeds; her imagination revels in their achievements. There are those who would rob them of something of their lustre, but no one can debunk Lindbergh, for there is no bunk about him. He represents to us, fellow-Americans, all that we wish—a young American at his best.”

Only by reducing this record to catalog form could it possibly be made to include a fully detailed description of Lindbergh’s four amazing days in New York. Every night there was a banquet. Every day there was a festive lunch. Not hundreds, but thousands attended these entertainments; and at the speaker’s table there always sat distinguished men whose names were household words among Americans.

Lindbergh spoke at every banquet. Recurrently he paid gracious thanks to those who had helped make his visit such a gorgeous success; he usually ended by speaking on behalf of aviation, the welfare of which he never forgot even in the most crowded moments of his days.

The Merchants’ Association gave him a gigantic luncheon. The Aeronautical Chamber of Commerce entertained him at a banquet that filled to overflowing the famous ball room of the Waldorf.

On Wednesday night he gave an exhibition of his endurance that once more reminded the world it was fêting no ordinary hero. After dining on Rodman Wanamaker’s yacht and seeing a special performance of a light opera, Lindbergh attended a charity benefit at one of the big theatres. About 1:30 A.M. he escaped through a back door and hurried to Mitchel field. Although still in his evening clothes he borrowed a helmet and hopped off for Washington at 3:05 A.M. By 7:30 A.M. he was back in New York with his own plane.

His last day was too crowded for him to take a nap after his sleepless night. He went to Brooklyn where above a million people gave him another moving welcome. He kept a public luncheon date. He attended a large tea and reception at the Waldorf Hotel where Raymond Orteig presented him with the $25,000 prize that had long stood for the first flight from New York to Paris. At eight, a little tired but still as fresh looking as ever, he followed Charles Schwab in speaking before a massed aviation banquet that included many leading pilots of the world.

ST. LOUIS’ WELCOME—LOOKING DOWN WASHINGTON AVENUE

MY MOTHER

VI
ST. LOUIS

AT 8:17 A.M., Friday June 17th, Lindbergh hopped off in his plane for St. Louis. At Paterson he passed over the plant of the Wright Aeronautical Corporation where had been built the motor that had taken him across the Atlantic. At 11:16 he reached Columbus, Ohio. At Dayton he was joined by an escort of thirty fast Army planes. They took-off from the field where the old hangar of Orville and Wilbur Wright still stands.

About 5 P.M. he approached St. Louis in a wet fog. He dropped lower and circled the city. As at New York the sky was dotted with planes. Streets and house tops were massed with people. As he landed at Lambert Field a cordon of troops protected him from the eager crowds.

For the evening he managed to escape to the home of a friend where he got a little much-needed rest, though reporters and business solicitors still swarmed about him. Saturday morning came the huge city parade with luncheon and banquet to follow. Sunday he gave an exhibition flight over the old World’s Fair grounds. Not an hour, scarcely a waking minute, was he free from demands upon his time and attention.

By this time his mail had exceeded the wildest imagination. It was estimated that more than 2,000,000 letters and several hundred thousand telegrams were sent him. He gave out the following statement:

“To the Press: As an air mail pilot I deeply appreciate the sentiment which actuated my countrymen to welcome me home by ‘air mail,’ and regret only that I have no way in which to acknowledge individually every one of the tens of thousands of ‘air mail’ greetings I have received, for my heart is in the ‘air mail’ service, and I would like to help keep alive the air-consciousness of America which my good fortune may have helped to awaken.”

By this time statisticians began to get busy. One official association estimated that the tremendous increase of interest in flying developed by Lindbergh’s feat caused publications in the United States to use 25,000 tons of newsprint in addition to their usual consumption.

Roughly 5,000 poems were believed to have been written to commemorate the first New York to Paris flight. A town was named “Lindbergh.” Scores of babies were reported christened after the flier. An enormous impetus was given the use of air mail.

Inspired editorials were written in every part of the civilized world. The following from the New York Times suitably completes this very superficial record of the early Lindbergh welcome by mankind:

“Such a man is one in a host. In treating of the psychology of those who adore Lindbergh it must first be set down that he has the qualities of heart and head that all of us would like to possess. When he left Newfoundland behind, the dauntless fellow seemed to have a rendezvous with Death, but his point of view was that he had an engagement in Paris. Two gallant Frenchmen had lost their lives, it was believed, in an attempt to fly across the Atlantic to the United States. An American, unknown to fame, in whom no one but himself believed, made the passage smoothly, swiftly and surely, traveling alone and almost unheralded. From New York to Paris, without a hand to clasp or a face to look into, was a deed to lose one’s head over. And that’s what everybody in France, Belgium and England proceeded to do.

“After all, the greater was behind—the young fellow’s keeping his own head when millions hailed him as hero, when all the women lost their hearts to him, and when decorations were pinned on his coat by admiring Governments. Lindbergh had the world at his feet, and he blushed like a girl! A more modest bearing, a more unaffected presence, a manlier, kindlier, simpler character no idol of the multitude ever displayed. Never was America prouder of a son.”

The End

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.