President Taft watching Curtiss fly, Harvard Meet, 1910
Again Bleriot dashed past the stand and it seemed to me that he was going even faster than the first time. Great was my surprise, therefore, when, as he landed, there was no outburst of cheers from the great crowd. I had expected a scene of wild enthusiasm, but there was nothing of the sort. I sat in Mr. Bishop's automobile a short distance from the judges' stand, wondering why there was no shouting, when I was startled by a shout of joy from my friend, Mr. Bishop, who had gone over to the judges' stand.
"You win! You win!" he cried, all excitement as he ran toward the automobile. "Bleriot is beaten by six seconds!"
A few moments later, just at half past five o'clock, the Stars and Stripes were slowly hoisted to the top of the flagpole and we stood uncovered while the flag went up. There was scarcely a response from the crowded grand stands; no true Frenchman had the heart to cheer. A good, hearty cheer requires more than mere politeness. But every American there made enough noise for ten ordinary people, so that numbers really counted for very little in the deep feeling of satisfaction at the result of the first great contest in the history of aviation. Mr. Andrew D. White, accompanied by Mrs. Roosevelt and Miss Ethel Roosevelt, came over to our car and congratulated me. Quentin Roosevelt, who had been in a state of excitement throughout the day, declared it "bully," while his brother Archie wanted to be shown all about the working of the machine. M. Bleriot himself, good sportsman that he is, was among the first to extend congratulations to America and to me personally.
There was a reason beyond the mere patriotism why the Americans felt so happy over the result; it meant that the next international race would be held in the United States, and that the best foreign machines would have to come across the ocean to make a try for the cup the following year.
In commenting upon the result the Paris Edition of the New York Herald said that the race had rehabilitated the biplane; that while the lightness and bird-like lines of the monoplane had appealed to the crowd as the ideal representation of artificial flight, "the American aviator proved that the biplane not only possessed qualities of carrying weight and undoubtedly of superior stability, but that, if need be, it can develop speed equal to, if not superior to, its smaller rival."
Offers of engagements to fly in Germany and Italy came pouring in. To accept these meant a good deal of money in prizes, for it had been proven that I had the fastest aeroplane in the world. I accepted some of them, as I had learned that the conditions for flying at the big meets in Europe were almost ideal and that there was a tremendous amount of interest everywhere, among all classes. A big meet was organized at Brescia, Italy, and I went there from Rheims.
Here I carried my first passenger, the celebrated Italian poet and author, Gabriele D'Annunzio. He was wildly enthusiastic over his experience, and upon being brought back to earth said with all the emotion of his people: "Until now I have never really lived! Life on earth is a creeping, crawling business. It is in the air that one feels the glory of being a man and of conquering the elements. There is the exquisite smoothness of motion and the joy of gliding through space–It is wonderful! Can I not express it in poetry? I might try."
And he did express it in poetry, a beautiful work published sometime later.
After winning the Grand Prize at Brescia and taking a wonderful motor trip over the Alps with Mr. Bishop, I hurried home to America to look after my business affairs, about which I had not had time even to think during the Rheims and Brescia meets.