More valley. The Delaware River. Washington crossed the Delaware. I cross it in half a minute.
The Sourland Mountains and Lindbergh’s sad white house. I see Flemington and know the trial is going on down there. I remember walking with Lindbergh, ten years ago, from San Antonio, Tex., to Kelly Field, where we were both advanced flying students. “What are you going to do when you graduate?” he asked. “What are you going to do?” I asked him. Yes, what were we going to do? And now he was down there in that courtroom, and the world stretching out around him as far as I could see and much, much farther was a cocked ear listening again to his tragedy. And I was circling above in the clean blue sky, remembering many things and thinking.
I shuddered a last long unbelieving look at Lindbergh’s empty, lonely house, perched up on its hill, circled and flew on. Half an hour later, on Long Island, I kissed the chubby cheek of my own first-born son in greeting and pitied Lindbergh somewhat for his fame.
[MEXICAN WHOOPEE!]
I hadn’t seen Darr Alkire since I had resigned from the army several years before, so when I dropped into March Field, Calif., to say hello and he told me that he and a couple of the other officers were flying three ships down to Mexacali on the Mexican border that afternoon to return the next and asked me to go along, I said yes.
I flew down in the rear seat of Darr’s ship, and when we landed and crossed the border everybody proceeded to get drunk. Everybody but Yours Truly. I had been on a party the night before I had dropped in to see Darr and didn’t feel up to it.
The next morning we met a Mexican captain, and everybody had to drink a lot of drinks to each other. I still threw mine over my shoulder.
That afternoon the Mexican captain had to escort us to the airport, just to say good-bye to us. The leader of our formation then, no sooner had we taken off, had to lead us in some diving passes at the Mexican captain, just to say good-bye to him.
They were having a lot of fun dusting their wings on the airport, saluting the captain, but I wasn’t! Darr was sticking his wing in too close to the leader’s for comfort. I had a set of dual controls in the rear cockpit and couldn’t resist just a little pressure on them to ease his wing away from the leader’s in some of the passes or to pull him up just a little sooner in some of the dives. It was a heluva breach of flying ethics, but after all I was sober!