“Admiral Wiley is reluctant to accept responsibility for your safety,” I replied.
“I’m responsible for myself,” he retorted brusquely. “Isn’t it a fact that they just don’t want an Army officer around a carrier?” he added.
“Of course,” I replied. And then I moved on to the counterplan. “You remember the Three Sea Hawks at the Los Angeles air races last year?” I inquired.
Naturally Lindbergh remembered.
“Well,” I went on, “Tommy Tomlinson has left the service, but Put Storrs and Bill Davis are here, and the boys thought you might like to lead them in a Section take-off, and fly ashore with them when you go.”
Lindbergh nodded. “I’d like that,” he said simply.
“It would make a good story,” I went on. “‘Leader of Three Musketeers takes off with Three Sea Hawks.’” Lindbergh shook his head.
“Not interested in the publicity,” he said.
And there, thought I, was a key to his conduct. Lindbergh was so honest, intellectually and in every other way, that the antics of publicity seekers revolted him. Newspaper men, having never before encountered a celebrity who was not avid for publicity, could not be expected to understand this. They made—and broke—celebrities at will. They considered that they had made Lindbergh and most now thought him ungrateful.
With Admiral Moffett’s reappointment to the Bureau, we became curious as to Admiral Reeves’s new assignment. He had made it a practice never to request duty for himself, and now rather hoped he might get command of the Ninth Naval District, at Great Lakes. But when the news leaked out through the grapevine, it was a dive-bomb hit right amidships. Admiral Reeves was to go to the Navy Yard at Mare Island as Inspector, a job that usually rated a commander or, at most, a captain. The admiral took the news cheerfully as usual.