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.