spirit of st. louis: a scribner classic by charles lindbergh

7/29/2019 Spirit of St. Louis: A Scribner Classic by Charles Lindbergh

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T H E SPIRIT o f ST . L O U I SCharles A . Lindbergh

S C R I B N E R C L A S S I C S


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AS C R I B N E R1230 Avenue of the AmericasNew York, N Y 10020

Copyright 1953 by Charles Scribner's SonsCopyright renewed 1981 by Anne M orrow Lindbergh

Allrightsreserved, including therighto f reproduction in wholeor in part in any form.

S C R I B N E R and design are trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.Manufactured in the United States of Am erica

3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Lindbergh, C harles A. (Charles Aug ustus), 1902-1974.The Spirit of St. Louis / Charles A. Lindbergh.

p. cm. (Scribner classics)Originally published: 1953.

1. Lindbergh, C harles A. (Charles Augustus), 1902-1974.2. Spirit of St. Louis (Airplane). 3. Transatlantic flights.

4. Ai r pilotsUnited StatesBiography. I. Title. II. Series.TL540.L5A3 1998

629.13'092dc21[B] 98-33556CIP

ISBN 0-684-85277-2


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To A . M . L.Who will never realize

how much of this book she has written


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PREFACE

I N G E N E R A L , this book is about flying, and an aviator's life, in thebeginning third of the 20th century. In particular, it describes theplanning and execution of the first nonstop airplane flight betweenthe continents of America and Europe. It has been fourteen yearsin the writing. Started in the city of Paris, during the tense prewarwinter of 1938, its manuscript was completed on the shore ofScotts Cove, off Long Island Sound, in the hardly more tranquilyear of 1952.

The chapters that follow have been drafted and revised underconditions ranging from the uncertainty of a fighting squadron'stent in the jungles o f New G uinea , to the stable fam ily life of aConnecticut suburban home, and under such diverse daily influences as accompany noonday, m idnight, and dawn. O n top of amanuscript sheet I often marked down my location at themoment of writing or revising. G lancing through old drafts, I nowpick out, more or less at random, the following geographicalpositions: aboard S.S. Aquitania, en route Cherbourg to NewY o r k ; Army and Navy Club, Washington, D . C . ; with the M arineson a Marshall atoll; in a bomber, returning from the NorthMagnetic Pole; G eneral Partridge's residence at Nagoya, Jap an;in a house trailer on the Florida Keys; on an air base in Arabia;parked on a roadside in the Italian Alps; camped in G erm any'sTaunus mountains; at the Carrels' island of St. G ildas.

Because the writing began m ore than eleven years after the lastincident described took place, and because detailed records werenot available at the time and later could not be transported everywhere the manuscript traveled, I have drawn heavily on memoryfor early drafts.Searching memory might be compared to throwing the beamof a strong light, from your hilltop camp site, back over the roadyou traveled by day. Only a few of the objects you passed areclearly illuminated; countless others are hidden behind them,screened from the rays. There is bound to be some vagueness anddistortion in the distance. But memory has advantages that com -

[ i x ]


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[X] PREFACEpensate for its failings. By eliminating detail, it clarifies the pictureas a whole. Like an artist's brush, it finds higher value in life'sessence than in its photographic intricacy.

R ecords, on the other hand, illuminate the corners with whichthey are concerned, and surround your m ind with their contemporary problems. They are relatively specialized, sometimescontradictory, and often incomplete. They restrict your perspectiveby bringing you too close to the area they cover. But they offer payin precision for what they lack in breadth. I have rearranged andrewritten later manuscript drafts under the light of docum entsculled from attics, files, and libraries.Throughout the following chapters I have digested conversations and press articles in order to avoid tedious detail. In telegrams I have used the originals where they were available, andapproximated from memory where they were not. Since it isimpossible to describe exactly the wanderings of the mind, I haveplaced flashback s out of sequence to attain impressionistic truth.All incidents in this book are factual, and I have tried to put theminto words with accuracy. The engine log and navigation log ofthe Spirit of St. Louis were stolen by some member of the crowdthat overran fences and guards at Le Bourget, Therefore the logentries which form chapter heads in Part II have been filled infrom performance curves and other records. The figures used areclose to those marked down in flight, but there is certainly somevariation.

When the Spirit of St. Louis flew to Paris, aviation was shouldering its way from the stage of invention onto the stage ofusefulness. E nthusiasts still talked about "the conquest of the air ."R ules for safety were sometimes just the reverse of today's. Whena pilot encountered fog, he turned his eyes to the earth instead ofto his dials, and the quality of his senses was as important as thatof his mind. The ability of an aircraft to make an emergencylanding in a small pasture warranted a considerable reduction inits cruising speed; while the advantage of a cockpit forward , fromthe standpoint of vision, was more than offset by the advantageof a cockpit aft, from the standpoint of crash. But the monoplane


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PREFACE fxi]had become a serious threat to the biplane's superiority. Instrument-flying techniques were being developed by the more progressive pilots. A nd promises of radio com m unication gave a irm encause for hope.

Along with most of my fellow fliers, I believed that aviationhad a br illiant future. But m y vision , extravagant as it seemed atthe time, fell short of accomplishments now achieved with aircraft,by their pilo ts, engineers, and executives. Speeds, ranges, altitudes,powers, sizes, economies, and destructive capabilities today haveshattered lim iting factors of a quarter century ago. Science hastransformed the frail craft of Le Bris, Lilienthal, and the Wrightbrothers into metal, and loaded them with cargoes varying fromorchids to atom ic bom bs. Thousands of m en, wom en, and childrennow cruise each day above the racing pilot's speed of 1927.Agencies all over the world sell tickets to cross the ocean atfsteamer-travel prices. Airlines have flown billions of passengerm iles between fatalities. E ngines have changed their horsepowerratings from hundreds into thousands. Military crews fly regularlyabove what the world's altitude record used to be.

Technically, we in aviation have met with miraculous success.W e have accomplished our objectives, passed beyond them. Weactually live, today, in our dreams of yesterday; and, living inthose dreams, we dream aga in. O ur visions of the future nowembrace rocket missiles and supersonic flights. We speculate ontraveling through space as we once discussed flying across oceans.But, unlike the early years of aviation, our dreams of tomorroware disturbed by the realities of today. In this new, almost superhuman world, we find alarming imperfections. We have seen theaircraft, to which we devoted our lives, destroying the civilizationthat created them. We realize that the very efficiency of ourm achines threatens the character of the m en who build and operatethem.

Together with people outside the field of aviation, we findourselves moving in a vicious circle, where the machine, whichdepended on m odern m an for its invention, has m ade m odern m andependent on its constant improvement for his securityeven for


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[Xii] PREFACEhis life. W e begin to wonder how rocket speeds and atomic powerswill affect the naked body, mind, and spirit, which, in the lastanalysis, m easure the true value of al l hum an effort. W e have comeface to face with the essential problem of how to use man'screations for the benefit of man himself. But this leads beyond thescope of m y story, which ends o n M a y 21, 1927, when we werestill looking forward to the conquest of the air.


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CONTENTS

A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S viiP R E F A C E i x

P A R T I T H E C R A F TI. The S t . Louis -Chicago Mai l 3

II. N e w Y o r k 5 1i n . S a n D i e g o 7 9i v . Across the Cont inent 134v . Rooseve l t Field 148

P A R T I I N E W Y O R K T O P A R I Sv i . New York to Paris 181A F T E R W O R D 493A P P E N D I X

T H E L O G O F T H E Spiri t o f St . Louis 5 0 3T H E C R U I S E R M e m p hi s 5 1 7DECORATIONS, AWARDS, AND TROPHIES

by E S T H E R B . M U E L L E R 517T H E RAYMOND ORTEIG PRIZE 5 3 0ENGINEERING DATA O N T H E Spirit of St. LOUIS

by D O N A L D A . H A L L 531SPECIFICATIONS AND G E N E R A L DESCRIPTIONOF T H E WHIRLWIND ENGINE

by K E N N E T H M . L A N E 545W e 547O T H E R B O O K S , M A G A Z I N E A R T I C L E S , A N D P R E S S A C C O U N T S 5 4 7

G L O S S A R Y 549


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I -

TH E ST- L O U I S - C H I C A G OM A I L

S E P T E M B E R , 1926N I G H T A L R E A D Y SHADOWS the eastern sky . T o my left, low on thehorizon, a thin line of cloud is drawing on its evening sheath ofblack. A moment ago, it was burning red and gold. I look downover the side of my cockpit at the farm lands of central Illinois.Wheat shocks are gone from the fields. Close, parallel lines of theseeder, across a harrowed strip, show where winter planting hasbegun. A threshing crew o n the farm below is quitting work for theday. Several men look up and wave as my mail plane roars overhead. Trees and buildings and stacks of grain stand shadowless inthe diffused light of evening. In a few minutes it will be dark , andI'm still south of Peoria.

H ow quick ly the long days of summer passed, when it was daylight all the way to Chicago. It seems only a few weeks ago, thatmomentous afternoon in April , when we inaugurated the air-mailservice. A s chief pilot of the line, the hono r of m ak ing the firs tflight had been mine. There were photographs, city officials, andhandshaking all along the route that day. For was it not a milestone in a city's history, this carrying of the mail by air? We pilots,mechanics, postal clerks, and business executives, at St. Louis,Springfield, Peo ria, Chicago , all felt that we were tak ing part in anevent which pointed the way toward a new and marvelous era.

But after the first day's heavy load, swollen with letters ofenthusiasts and collectors, interest declined. Men's minds turnedback to routine business; the air mail saves a few hours at most;

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[4] The Spirit of St. Louisit's seldom really worth the extra cost per letter. Week after week,we've carried the lim p and nearly empty sacks back and forth witha regularity in which we take great pride. Whether the mail compartment contains ten letters or ten thousand is beside the point.We have faith in the future. Some day we know the sacks will fill.

We pilots of the mail have a tradition to establish. The comm erce of the air depends on it. M en have already died for thattradition. Every division of the mail routes has its hallowed pointsof crash where some pilot on a stormy night, or lost and blindedby fog , la id down his life o n the altar of his occupation. Every m anwho flies the mail senses that altar and, consciously or unconsciously, in his way worships before it, knowing that his own nextflight may end in the sacrifice demanded.

Our contract calls for five round trips each week. It's ourmission to land the St. Louis mail in Chicago in time to connectwith planes coming in from California, Minnesota, Michigan, andTexas a time ca lculated to put letters in New York City for theopening of the eastern business day.Three of us carry on this service: Philip L ove, Thom as Nelson,

and I. We've established the best record of all the routes converging at Chicago, with over ninety-nine percent of our scheduled flightscom pleted. P loughing through storms, wedging our waybeneath low clouds, paying almost no attention to weather forecasts, we've more than once landed our rebuilt army warplanes onChicago's M aywood fieldwhen other lines canceled out, when olderand perhaps wiser p ilots ordered their cargo put o n a train. Duringthe long days of summ er we seldom m issed a flight.Bu t now winteris creeping up on us. Nights are lengthening; skies are thickeningwith haze and storm. We're already landing by floodlightat Chicago.In a few m ore weeks it w ill be dark when we glide down onto thatnarrow strip of cow pasture ca lled the Peoria air-mail field. Beforethe winter is past, even the meadow at Springfield will need lights.Today I'm over an hour late engine trouble at St. Louis.

Lighting an airport is no great problem if you have money topay for it. With revolving beacons, boundary markers, and floodlights, night flying isn't difficult. But our organization can't buy


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TH E ST . LOUIS-CHICAGO MAIL [5]such luxuries. There's barely enough money to keep going frommonth to month.

The R obertson Aircraft Corporation is paid by the pounds ofmail we carry, and often the sacks weigh more than the lettersinside. Our operating expenses are incredibly low; but our revenueis lower still. The Corporation couldn't afford to buy new aircraft.A l l our planes and engines were purchased from A r m y salvage,and rebuilt in our shops at Lambert Field. We cal l them D H s, because the design originated with De H aviland, in England. Theyare biplanes, with a single, twelve-cylinder, four-hundred-horsepower Liberty engine in the nose. They were built during the warfor bombing and observation purposes, and improved types wereput on production in the U nited States. T he m ilitary D H has twocockpits. In our planes the mail compartment is where the frontcockpit used to be, and we m ail pilots fly from the p osition wherethe wartime observer sat.

We've been unable to buy full night-flying equipment for theseplanes, to Say nothing of lights and beacons for the fields we landon. It was only last week that red and green navigation lights wereinstalled on our DH s. Before that we carried nothing but one emergency f lar e and a pocket flashligh t. W hen the dollars aren't there,you can't draw checks to pay for equipm ent. B ut it's bad economy,in the long run, to operate a m ail route without p rop er lights. Thathas already cost us one plane. I lost a D H just over a week agobecause I d idn't have an extra flare, or wing lights, o r a beacon togo back to.I encountered fog, that night, on the northbound fl ight betweenMarseilles and Chicago. It was a solid bank, rolling in over theIllinois R iver valley. I turned back southwest, and tried to dropmy single flar e so I co uld land on one of the farm fields below; butwhen I pulled the release lever nothing happened. Since the topof the fog was less than a thousand feet high, I decided to climbover it and continue on m y route in the hope offindinga clear spotaround the air-mail field. Then, if I could get under the clouds, Icould pick up the Chicago beacon, which had been installed atgovernment expense.


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[6] The Spirit of S t. LouisG lowing patches of mist showed me where cities lay on theearth's surface. With these patches as guides, I had little troublelocating the outskirts of Chicago and the general area of Maywood.

But a blanket of fog, about 800 feet thick, covered the field.Mechanics told me afterward that they played a searchlight upward and burned two barrels of gasoline on the ground in an effortto attract m y attention. I saw no sign of their activities.

After circling for a half hour I headed west, hoping to pick upone of the beacons on the transcontinental route. T hey were foggedin too. B y then I had d iscovered that the failure of m yflareto dropwas caused by slack in the release cable, and that the flare mightstill function if I pulled on the cable instead of on the release lever.I turned southwest, toward the edge of the fog, intending to followmy original plan of landing on some farmer's field byflarelight.A t8:20 my engine spit a few times and cut out almost completely.A t first I thought the carburetor jets had clogged, because thereshould have been plenty of fuel in my main tank. But I followedthe emergency p rocedure of turning on the reserve. Then, since Iwas only 1500 feet high, I shoved the flashlight into my pocketand got ready to jum p; but power surged into the engine again.Obviously nothing was wrong with the carburetor the main tankhad run dry. That left me with reserve fuel for only twenty minutes of flight not enough time to reach the edge of the fog.

I decided to jump when the reserve tank ran dry, and I hadstarted to climb for altitude when a light appeared on the ground just a blink, but that meant a break in the fog. I circled downto 1200 feet and pulled out theflare-releasecable. This time theflare functioned, but it showed only a solid layer of mist. I waiteduntil the fla re sank out of sight o n its parachute, and began clim bing again. Ahead, I saw the glow from a sm all city. I banked away,toward open country.

I was 5000 feet high when my engine cut the second time. Iunbuckled my safety belt, dove over the right side of the fuselage,and after two or three seconds of fall pulled the rip cord. T heparachute opened right away. I was playing m y flashligh t downtoward the top of the fog bank when I was startled to hear the


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TH E ST . LOUIS-CHICAGO MAIL [7]sound of an airplane in the distance. It was coming toward me. Ina few seconds I saw my D H , dimly, less than a quarter mile awayand about on a level with me. It was circling in my direction, leftwing down. Since I thought it was completely out of gasoline, Ihad neglected to cut the switches before I jumped. When the nosedropped, due to the loss of the weight of my body in the tail, someadditional fuel apparently drained forward into the carburetor,sending the plane off on a soloflightof its own.

M y concern was out of p rop ortion to the danger. In spite ofthe sky's tremendous space, it seemed crowded with traffic. Ishoved my flashlight into my pocket and caught hold of the parachute risers so I could slip the canopy one way or the other in casethe plane kept pointing toward me. But it was fully a hundredyards away when it passed, leaving me on the outside of its circle.The engine noise receded, and then increased until the D H a ppeared again, still at my elevation. T he rate o f descent of plane andparachute were approximately equal. I counted five spirals, eacha little farther away than the last. Then I sank into the fogbank.

Knowing the ground to be less than a thousand feet below, Ireached for the fla sh ligh t. It was gone. In my excitement when Isaw the plane coming toward me, I hadn't pushed it far enoughinto my pocket. I held my feet together, guarded my face withmy hands, and waited. I heard the D H pass once again. Then Isaw the outline of the ground, braced myself for impact, and hit in a cornfield. By the time I got back on m y feet, the chute hadcollapsed and was lying on top of the corn tassels. I rolled it up,tucked it under my arm, and started walking between two rowsof corn. T he stalks were higher than my head. H ie leaves crinkledas I brushed past them . I clim bed over a fence, into a stubble field .There I found wagon tracks and followed them. G round visibilitywas about a hundred yards.

The wagon tracks took me to a farmyard. First, the big barnloomed up in haze. Then a lighted window beyond it showed thatsomeone was still up. I was heading for the house when I saw anautomobile move slowly along the road and stop, playing its spot-


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[8] The Spirit of S t. Louislight from one side to the other. I walked over to the car. Severalpeople were in it.

"Did yo u hear that a irplane?" one of them called out as Iapproached.

"I'm the pilot," I said."An airplane just dove into the ground," the m an went on,paying no attention to my answer. "Must be right near here. G o d ,it made a racket!" H e kept searching with his spotlight, but thebeam didn't show m uch in the haze."I'm the pilot," I said again. "I was flying it." M y words got

through that time. The spotlight stopped moving."You're th e pilot? G o o d G o d , how ""I jumped with a parachute," I said, showing him the white

bundle."You aren't hurt?""Not a bit. But I've got to find the wreck and get the mailsacks.""It m ust be right near by. G et in and we'll drive along the roada piece. G o o d G o d , what went wrong? Y o u must have had someexperience! You're sure you aren't hurt?"We spent a quarter hour searching, unsuccessfully. Then Iaccom panied the farm er to his house. M y plane, he said, had flownover his roof only a few seconds before it struck the ground.

I asked to use his telephone. The party line was jammed withvoices, all talking about the airplane that had crashed. I broke inwith the statement that I was the pilot, and asked the telephoneoperator to put in emergency calls for St. L ouis and C hicago .Then I asked her if anyone had reported the exact location ofthe wreck. A number of people had heard the plane pass overheadjust before it hit, she replied, but nothing more definite hadcome in.

I'd hardly hung up and turned away when the bell rangthree longs and a short.

"That's our signal," the farmer said.M y plane had been located, the operator told me, about twomiles from the house I was in . W e drove to the site of crash. T he


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TH E ST . LOUIS-CHICAGO MAIL [9]D H was wound up in a ball-shaped mass. It had narrowly misseda farmhouse, hooked one wing on a grain shock a quarter milebeyond, skidded along the ground for eighty yards, ripped througha fence, and come to rest on the edge of a cornfield. Splintersof wood and bits of torn fabric were strewn all around. T he m ailcompartment was broken open and one sack had been thrown out;but the m ail was undam aged I took it to the nearest post officeto be entrained.

The Illinois R iver angles in from the west. Lights are blink ingon in the city of Peoria long lines of them for streets; singlespots for house and office windows. I glance at the watch on myinstrument board 6:35. G o o d ! I've made up ten minutes sinceleaving St. Louis. I nose down toward the flying field, letting theair-speed needle clim b to 120 miles an hour. T he green m ail truckis at its usual place in the fence corner. The driver, standing byits side, lifts his arm in greeting as m y plane approaches. A n d forthis admiring audience of one, I dive down below the treetops andchandelle up around the field, climbing steeply until tremblingwings warn me to level off. Then, engine throttled, I sideslip downto a landing, almost brushing through high branches on the leeward border.

The pasture is none too large for a D e H avila nd , even indaytime. We'll have to be doubly careful at night. If a pilot glidesdown a little fast, he'll overshoot. T o make m atters worse, a smallgully spoils the eastern portion of the field for landing, so we oftenhave to come in with a cross wind.

I taxi up to the mail truck, blast the tail around with theengine, and pull back my throttle until the propeller is just tickingover. The driver, in brown whipcord uniform and visored cap,comes up smiling with the mail sack draped over one arm. It's aregistered sack, fastened at the top with a big brass padlock. G o o d !The weight of that lock is worth nearly two dollars to us, and therewas registered m ail from Springfield and St. Lo uis too. Those locksadd an appreciable sum to our monthly revenue.


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[10] The Spirit of St. LouisI toss the sack down onto aluminum-faced floor boards and

pass out two equally empty sacks from S t L ou is and Springfield.A few dozen letters in, a few dozen letters out, that's the Peoriaair mail.

"No fuel today?""No, plenty of fuel," I answer. "I've had a good tail wind."It's a relief to both of us, for twenty minutes of hard labor are

required to roll a barrel of gasoline over from our cache in thefence corner, pum p thirty or forty gallons into the D H 's tank, andstart the engine again. That is, it takes twenty minutes if the enginestarts easily; an indefinite time if it doesn't.Leaving the engine idling, we walk over to inspect the field-lighting equipment which has been improvised for the night landings of winter. Since the R obertson Aircraft Corporation keeps nomechanics at intermediate stops between St. Lo uis and Chicago, allthe assistance we have comes from the mail truck drivers. Theyhelp us with refueling and starting, keep the wind sock untangled,and hold on to a wing when taxiing is difficult. For whatever thepilot can't do alone, he has to call upon them. It's not part of theirwork; they get nothing for it, but they're always ready to give us ahand. Now we'll have to depend on them to arrange the lights forour night landings.

Electric floodlights cost too m uch, so our C orpo ration boughtflares instead. T he firs t shipment has just arrived. T he driver unlocks a plank box near the gasoline barrels and takes out a long,cylindrical flare. O n one end there's a spike that can be stuck intothe ground to hold it upright, like a piece of Fourth-of-July fireworks. We selected a type that would burn for nearly two minutes long enough if lighted at the right mom ent, and m uch lessexpensive than the larger ones.

I show the driver where it should be placed with differentdirections of windalways on the leeward end of the landing strip,with a curved sheet of tin behind it for a reflector and to keep theintense light from blinding the pilot as he glides down. A flare isnot to be set off, I tell him, unless he sees the plane's navigation


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TH E ST . LOUIS-CHICAGO MAIL [11]lights blink several times. O n m oonlit nights we can economizeby not using one at all.

I'm an hour and ten minutes behind schedule, taking off. Thetrees at the far end of the field have merged into a solid clumpin thickening dusk, have lost their individual identity. The moon,just past full, is r ising in the east. I didn't notice it before I landed,but now it seems to be competing with me for domination of thesky just the two of us, c limbing, and a ll the wor ld beneath.

I welcome the approach of night as twilight fades into brilliantmoonlight. The day has been crystal clear and almost cloudless;perfect for flying. It's been almost too perfect for flying the mail,for there's no ability required in holding your course over familiarcountry with a sharp horizon in every quarter. Y o u simply sit,touching stick and rudder lightly, dreaming of the earth below, ofexperiences past, of adventures that may come. There's nothingelse to do, nothing to match yourself against. There hasn't beeneven an occasional cloud near enough to burrow through. Skillis no asset. The spirit of conquest is gone from the air. O n suchan evening you might better be training students. It's an eveningfor beginners, not for pilots of the mailno tricks of wind, nofalse horizons. Its hours were shaped for beauty, not for contest.

The last tint of pink disappears from the western sky, leavingto the moon complete mastery of night. Its light floods throughwoods and fields ; reflects up from bends of rivers; shines on thesilver wings of my biplane, turning them a greenish hue. It makesthe earth seem more like a planet; and me a part of the heavensabove it, as though I too had a right to an orbit in the sky. I lookdown toward the ground , at the faintly lighted farmhouse windowsand the distant glow of cities, wondering what acts of life arecovered by the weird semidarkness in which only outlines can beseen. Around those points of fight are homes and menfamily


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[12] The Spirit of St. Louisgatherings, parties, doctors at births and deathbeds, hope anddespair, youth and age. That line of six glowing dots is it a barroom, church, or dance hall? A n d all those myriad lights, all theturmoil and works of men, seem to hang so precariously on thegreat sphere hurtling through the heavens, a phosphorescent mosson its surface, vulnerable to the brush of a hand. I feel aloof andunattached, in the solitude of space. W hy return to that m oss; whysubmerge m yself in brick-walled hum an problems when all thecrystal universe is mine? Like the moon, I can fly on foreverthrough space, past the mail field at Chicago, beyond the state ofIllinois, over mountains, over oceans, independent of the worldbelow.

Suppose I really could stay up here and keep on flying; suppose gasoline didn't weigh so m uch and I c ould put enough in thetanks to last for days. Suppose, like the man on the magic carpet,I could fly anywhere I wanted to anywhere in the world tothe North Pole or to China or to some jungle island if I wished.H ow m uch fuel could a plane carry if its fuselage were filled withtanks? But Fonck tried that out in his big Sikorsk y biplane, onlya few days ago, and crashedcrashed into flam es on a N ew Y o r kfield, taking off for a nonstop flight to Par is. W hy does fuel haveto be so heavy? If gasoline weighed only a pound per galloninstead of six, there'd be no limit to the places one couldfly ifthe engine kept on running.

If the engine kept on running! T he schooled habit of periodicinstrument readings brings me back to the mechanics of humanflight. O ne can't be following a satellite's orbit and watching thesedials at the same time. I return abruptly to earthly problems oftemperature, oil pressure, and r.p.m. I contended for a moment,but the m oon has won. Independent of the world? Only as long asthe engine runs smoothly and the fuel holds out. I have fuelenough for another two hours at most. But long before that I'llhave to be down at Chicago; m y D H safely in the hangar; the mailsorted, resacked, and most of it in the cockpit of an eastboundtranscontinental plane, headed for the Alleghenies and New YorkCity.


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TH E ST . LOUIS-CHICAGO MAIL [13]I'm annoyed at the thought of landing. It's a roundabout

method anyway, this flying the mail to Chicago to get it east.Why shouldn't we carry it direct to New York from St. Louis?True, there aren't enough letters in that wilted sack to pay for adirect service, but the m ail will grow in volume as aircraft improveand people learn to use them. The more time we save, the moreletters we'll get. If we flew direct, we could wait until the businessday closed before collecting St. Louis mail, and still land at NewYork City before offices opened the next m orning. Such a servicewould really be worth the cost of extra postage. We might evenbe able to fly from St. Louis to New York nonstop, eventually.Not with these salvaged A r t i y DH s they can't reach Chicagoagainst a headwind without refueling but with new planes andnew engines

The lights of a sm all city emerge behind m y right wing Streator. Ottawa is ahead and a few miles to the left. I make amental note of my position, glance at the instruments, and let theplane bore its way on toward Chicago.

Those new Lairds the Northwest pilots are flying, for instance they have only half the power of our D H s , but they're fasterand they carry a bigger load . A n d there's that Wright-Bellanca. Ithas taken off with an incredible weight on some of its test flights.With three planes like the Bellanc a we could easily carry the m ailnonstop between St. Louis and New Y o r k , and on clear nightspossibly two or three passengers besides.

But the cost it would take ten or fifteen thousand dollars tobuy just one Wright-Bellanca. W ho could afford to invest so m uchmoney in a single airplane, to say nothing of the three that wouldbe needed for a mail route? Our Corporation has a hard enoughtim e to keep going with the D H s , and they cost only a few hundreddollars apiece.

I grow conscious of the limits of my biplane, of the inefficiencyof its wings, struts, and wires. They bind me to earth and to thefield ahead at Chicago. A Bellanca would cruise at least fifteenmiles an hour faster, burn only half the amount of gasoline, andcarry double the pay load of a D H . What a future aviation has


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[14] The Spirit of S t. Louiswhen such planes can be built; yet how few people realize it!Businessmen think of aviation in terms of barnstorming, flyingcircuses, crashes, and high costs per flying hour. Somehow theymust be m ade to understand the possibilities of flig ht. If they couldsee the real picture, it wouldn't be difficult to finance an airlinebetween St. Louis and New Y o r k , even at the price of threeBellancas. Then commercial pilots wouldn't have to fly old armywarplanes or make night landings with flares instead of floodlights.

If only I had the Bellanca, I'd show St. Louis businessmenwhat modern aircraft could do; I'd take them to New York ineight or nine hours. They'd see how swiftly and safely passengerscould fly. There are all kinds of records I could break for demonstration distance, altitude with load, nonstop flights across thecountry. In a Bellanca filledwith fuel tanks I co uld fly on all night,like the moo n. H ow far could it go if it carried nothing but gasoline? With the engine throttled down it could stay aloft for days.It's fast, too. Judging from the accounts I've read , it's the mostefficient plane ever built. It could break the world's endurancerecord, and the transcontinental, and set a dozen marks for rangeand speed and weight. Possibly my mind is startled at itsthought I could fly nonstop between New York and Paris.

New York to Paris it sounds like a dream. A n d yet ifone could carry fuel enough (and the B ellanca m ight) if theengine didn't stop (and those new Wright Whirlwinds seldom dostop; they aren't like our old L iberties) i f one just held to theright course long enough, one should arrive in Europe. The flyingcouldn't be more dangerous or the weather worse than the nightmail in winter. With fuel enough, a p ilot would never have to landin fog; if he got caught, he could simply keep on going until hefound clear weather. Navigation? over the Atlantic and at night,boring through dark and unknown skies, toward a continent I'venever seen? The very thought makes me rise to contend again


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TH E ST . LOUIS-CHICAGO MAIL [15]with the moon sweeping over oceans and continents, lookingdown on farms and cities, letting the p lanet turn below.

Why shouldn't I fly from New York to Paris? I'm almosttwenty-five. I have more than four years of aviation behind me,and close to two thousand hours in the air. I've barnstormed overhalf of the forty-eight states. I've flown m y m ail through the worstof nights. I know the w ind currents of the R oc k y M ountains andthe storms of the Mississippi Valley as few pilots know them.During my year at Brooks and Kelly as a flying cadet, I learnedthe basic elements of navigation. I'm a Captain in the 110thObservation Squadron of Missouri's National Guard . Why am Inot qualified for such a flight?

Not so long ago, when I was a student in college, just fly ingan airplane seemed a dream. But that dream turned into reality.Then, as a two-hundred-hour pilot barnstorming through thecountry for a living, the wings of the Army A i r Service seemedalm ost beyond reach. But I won them. Finally, to be a pilot of thenight m ail appeared the sum m it of am bition for a flyer ; yet here Iam , in the cockp it of a m ail plane boring through the night. W hywouldn't a flight across the ocean prove as possible as all thesethings have been? A s I attempted them, I can 1 will attemptthat too. I'll organize a flight to Paris!

I sit contemplating my decision. The magnitude of the undertaking overwhelms me for a time. This idea which has come uponme, this vision born of a night and altitude and moonlight, howam I to translate it into an actual airplane fly ing over the AtlanticOcean to E urope and to France?

The important thing is to start; to lay a plan, and then follow itstep by step no matter how small or large each one by itself mayseem. I haven't enough money to buy a Wright-Bellanca. Couldany other plane make theflight the Fokker , or the new TravelAir? They m ight not cost as much. Maybe I could raise the moneyin St. Louis. I can put up some myself. Other people might bewilling to take part when they realize all the things that couldbe done with a B ellanca . Then there's the Orteig prize of $25,000


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[16] The Spirit of S t. Louisfor the first ma n to fly from New York to Par is nonstop that'smore than enough to pay for a plane and all the expenses of theflight. And the plane would still be almost as good as new after Ilanded in Europe. In fact, a successful trip to Paris wouldn't costanything at all. It might even end up a profitable venture.

There must be men of means with enough vision to take therisk involved. The problem is to find them, and to get them tolisten to my plan. Maybe the Wright Aeronautical Corporationitself would back the p roject. What could be a better advertisementfor their plane and engine than a nonstop flight across the ocean?New York to Paris nonstop! If airplanes can do that, there's nolimit to aviation's future.

T he C hicago beacon flashes in the distance. In ten minutes Imust land.2

It's too late to think m ore about ocean flig hts tonight. I crawlinto bed, angle cornerwise for room, and kick the blanket underneath my toes But can a plane really carry enough gasolineto fly nonstop between New Y o r k and Paris? What made CaptainFonck's Sikorsky crash? H ad he demanded too much of wings onair; was the frail structure sim ply overloaded; or d id he m ake anerror in p iloting technique, as expert witnesses suggested?

From gallant start to tragic ending, all kinds of things wentwrong. T he tail skid slipped off the dolly, a ccording to newspaperreports, while the big machine was being moved, before dawn,from its hangar to the runway's end. That damaged the centerrudder, which had to be repaired. T he press colum ns stated thatnot long afterward, in swinging the plane around, some auxiliarylanding structure was bent and had to be straightened out again.After the take-off was started, about halfway down the runway,one of the auxiliary landing gears came loose and dragged up acloud of dust. T he plane swerved, straightened engines still wideopen. It reached the end of the runway without gaining speedenough to fly, and crashedin flames. Fonck and his copilot,Lawrence Curtin, escaped from the wreckage almost uninjured,


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TH E ST . LOUIS-CHICAGO MAIL [17]but Jacob Islamoff, the navigator-mechanic, and Charles Clavier,the radio operator, lost their lives.

"Fonck should have stopped the take-off." "It was too late tostop." "H e should have lifted the tail up sooner." "The plane wastoo heavily overloaded." "Someone released the auxiliary landinggear too soon." Newspaper accounts are so conflicting that it'shard to judge the causes of the crash. Al l one can be sure of is thatthe flig ht ended in fa ilure, quarreling, and death. In fact, quarreling blighted the project for weeks before its end. H ow many p ilotswere to be carried? Who was "in" at the beginning? Who had theright to go along? Accusations alternated with threats to withdraw,to removefinancialsupport. A contract was argued back and forth.Members of the crew were quickly changed.

Think of the weight those wings were asked to liftm ore than28,000 pounds. But the big Sikorsky had taken off beautifully onits lighter load tests. There was good reason to believe it couldcarry enough fuel for the Par is flig ht. Probably the auxiliary land ing gear dragging was what held it on the ground. I should thinkFonck would have cut his switches the moment the gear brokeloose. But who am I to judge his crisis-action while I lie snuglyhere in bed? Fo nc k had to decide in seconds what his critics havehad days to talk about. A n d what p ilot is im m une to errors? W eall com m it them, as every honest m an will say. U sually our errorsdon't end in a crash. But when a m an is unlucky , does that makehim m ore to blam e?

There's another thing I don't understand about the Fonckproject. A plane that's got to break the world's record for nonstopflying should be stripped of every excess ounce of weight. Butdescriptions of the great biplane said that its cabin had been luxuriously fin ished in red leather, and that it even contained a bed .There were long-wave and short-wave radio sets, and special bagsfor flotation in case of a landing at sea. Four men were in thecrew. It certainly doesn't take four men to fly a plane across theocean. T he newspapers said that presents were being carried forfriends in Europe , and a hot dinner to be eaten in celebration afterthe landing in Paris. One of the last things to be placed on board


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[18] The Spir it of S t . L ouisbe f ore t he a tt e m pt e d t a ke -of f w a s a g if t o f bu ns F r e nc h c r o i s san ts .

W e l l , i f I can get a B e l l a n c a , I ' l l fly a l o n e . T h a t w i l l cut out thene e d f o r a ny s e le c t ion o f c r e w , o r qua r r e l ing . I f t he re ' s u p h o l s t e r yi n t h e c a b i n , I ' l l t e a r i t ou t f o r the f ligh t. I l l t a k e o n l y t h e fo o d Ine e d t o e a t, a n d a f e w c on c e n t r a t e d r a t ions . I ' l l c a r r y a r ub be rb o a t f o r e m e r ge nc y , a n d a l i t tl e e x t r a w a t e r .

N o w I ' ve got to s to p t h ink ing a bou t i t . I m us t ge t a fe w hours *s le e p .

3T h e a l a r m c l o c k ' s s h a tt er in g r i n g se e ms t o r e a c h d o w n t h r o u g ha doz e n l a ye r s o f b la nke t s . I t ' s a d r ugge d a w a ke ning . Th i s i s t hew o r s t p a r t o f th e a i r m a i l g e t t i n g u p b e f o re d a y b r e a k . F o r a fe wm o m e n t s I a l m o s t b e l i e v e t h a t flying i s n ' t w or t h s uc h a t e r r i f i ce ff or t t o ov e r c om e b od i ly de s i r e . I f I rese t th e c l o c k , m a y b e Ic o u l d s le e p fo r t e n m inu t e s m or e . I r e a c h ou t f o r i t . B u t t h ism o r n i n g t he re ' s s o m e t h i n g o f e x c e p t i o n a l i m p o r t a n c e , s o m e t h i n gt h a t s h o u l d m a k e m e j u m p q u i c k l y o u t o f b e d t o s t a r t the day . I t ' sn o t l i k e o t h e r m o r n i n g s . C o n s c i o u s n e s s w a k e s f i r s t , t h e n m e m o r y .O h , yes , th is i s the dawn of a new l ife, a l ife i n w h i c h I ' m g o i n gt o f ly a c r os s t he oc e a n t o E ur ope !

W h i l e I ' m d r e s s ing , on t he d r iv e t o t he m a i l field, a n d a l l d u r i n g m y s o u t h b o u n d f l i g h t t o S t . L o u i s , I t u r n ov e r one p la n a f t e ra n o t h e r i n m y m i n d . W h e r e c a n I ge t a m o d e r n a i r p l a n e ? H o w c a nI get a c c ur a te f igure s o n c r u i s ing s pe e d , t a ke -of f r u n , a n d f ue lc o n s u m p t io n ? W h o c a n g iv e m e i n f o r m a t i o n a b o u t th e W r i g h t -B e l l a n c a h o w s o o n c a n o n e b e b o u g h t , h o w m u c h w i l l i t cos t ,h o w m a n y g a l l o n s o f g a s o l i n e c a n i t l ift?

I p r o b a b l y w o n ' t b e v e r y s u c ce s sf u l i f I s i m p l y go t o th e W r i g h tC o r p o r a t i o n a n d s a y t h a t I w a n t t o u se a B e l l a n c a a i r p l a n e f o r afl ig h t t o P a r i s . T h e y ' d a s k i m m e d i a t e l y w h a t r ef er en c es I c o u l dfu rn i s h . W it ho ut e i the r c a s h in ha nd o r w e l l - e s t a b l i s he d r ef e re nc e st o s how , the y ' d ha v e l i t t l e in te r e st in m y ide a s . A v i a t i o n is f u l l o fp r o m o t e r s a n d p e o p l e l o o k i n g f o r a j o b . I d e a s are f ree for thet a k i n g , a n d a l m o s t e v e r y p i l o t h a s s o m e p l a n h e ' d l i k e t o c a r r y


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T H E ST. LOUIS-CHICAGO MAIL [19}o u t i f s o m e o n e e l s e w i l l f u rn i sh th e m o n e y . A n a v i a ti o n e x e c u t i v e h a s t o l o o k a t b a n k i n g r e fe r en c e s . I f h e d o e s n 't , h i s c o m p a n yw i l l s o o n g o b r o k e . E v e n i f I c o u l d p e rs u ad e t he W r i g h t C o r p o r a t i o n t h a t t he v a l u e o f a N e w Y o r k - t o - P a r i s f l i g h t w o u l d j us t i f y t a k i n g t h e c h a n c e i n v o l v e d , t h e y ' d p r o b a b l y w a n t t o h a v e t h e i rB e l l a n c a flown b y a b e t t e r - k n o w n p i l o t . A f t e r a l l , th e r e are lo t s ofp i l o t s m u c h m o r e e x p e r i e n c e d t h a n I .

N o , I ' l l h a v e t o p r es e n t t h e W r i g h t C o r p o r a t i o n s o m e t h i n gm o r e s u b s ta n t ia l t h a n a n i d e a . I ' l l h a v e t o g et o t h e r p e o p l e t o g oi n t o t he p r o j e c t w i t h m e m e n w i t h b o t h i n f l u e n c e a n d m o n e y .T h e n I ' l l be in a d if fe r en t po s i t io n w he n I ne go t ia te f o r a p la ne .I c a n s a y t h a t I represent a S t . L o u i s o r g a n i z a t i o n w h i c h in t e nds t op u r ch a s e a n a i rp l a n e f o r th e N e w Y o r k - t o - P a r i s flight, a n d th a tw e a r e c o n s i d e r i n g , a m o n g o t h e rs , t h e B e l l a n c a . T h a t o u g h t t o i m p re ss t h e W r i g h t C o r p o r a t i o n . T h a t w o u l d j us t r e v e r s e our p o s i t i o n s : t h e n t h e y ' d b e t r y i n g t o se l l t h e i r p r o d u c t t o m e i n s t e a d o fm y t r y i n g t o se l l a n i d e a t o t h e m . I f I h a v e p r o p e r b a c k i n g , m a y b eI c a n g e t a r e d u c t i o n i n p r i c e . P o s s i b l y th e W r i g h t C o r p o r a t i o nw o u l d g o i n t o p a r t n e r s h i p w i t h u s . A n d i f th e y w o n ' t , I c a n t r yo t h e r m a n u f a c t u r e r s F o k k e r , a n d H u f f - D a l a n d , f o r ins t a nc e .

A b o v e e v e r y t h ing e ls e loom s t he qu e s t ion o f f ina nc e . I ha v e af e w t h o u s a n d d o l l a r s , i n v e s te d fo r m e b y m y m o t h e r i n D e t r o i t .T h i s i n c l u d e s c h i l d h o o d s a v i n g s , s m a l l a m o u n t s sen t h o m e f r o mm y pa y a s a flying c a d e t , a n d p r o f i t s f r o m m y y e a r s o f b a r n s t o r m i n g . I t ' s a r e s e r v e I ' v e bu i l t up s l o w l y a n d c a r e f u l ly t o s a f e gua rdm y flying c a r e e r t o c o v e r a c r a s h e d p l a n e , o r a b a d s e a s o n . I ' v ed e p e n d e d o n t h a t r e s e rv e t o l e t m e s t ay i n a v ia t io n . I f I s pe n d i t o na n u n s u c c e s s f u l v e n t u r e W e l l , a financial r e s e r v e i s n ' t qu i t ea s i m p o r t a n t as it u s e d to b e . N o w t h a t I ' m a n e x p e r i e n c e d p i l o t ,I c a n a l w a y s g e t s o m e k i n d of a j ob flying. I c a n a f f o r d t o t a kes o m e r i s k w i t h t h a t m o n e y . B u t a l l m y m o n e y p u t t o g eth e r w o u l dp a y f o r o n l y a f r a c t i o n o f a B e l l a n c a . H o w d o es o n e o r g a n iz e am a j o r flying p r o j e c t ? H o w d i d C o m m a n d e r B y r d g e t m o n e y f o rh i s p o l a r e x p e d i t i o n ? W h o f in a n ce s D e P i n e d o o n h i s fl ig h ts ?

F o r th e S t . L o u i s i a n s w h o m i g h t b e i n te r e s te d i n t a k i n g p a r t , Ih a v e t w o m a j o r a r g u m e n t s . F i r s t , I ' l l s h o w t h e m h o w a nonstop


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[20] The Spirit of St. Louisflight between America and E urope will demonstrate the possibilities of aircraft, and help place St. Louis in the foreground ofaviation. Second, I'll show them that a modern airplane is capableof m ak ing the flig ht to P ar is, and that a successful fligh t will coverits own costs because of the Orteig prize. Then, of course, as additional talking points, there are a ll the records one cou ld breakand the places one could fly with a p lane like the Wright-Bellanca.But where shall I start? T o whom shall I go with m y project? Ihave friends in the city, but most of them are aviators too, andmen in aviation seldom have m uch money.

As I cruise back over the route to St. Louis, practical thinkingalternates with a feeling of awe toward a project of such magnitude a flight over the whole Atlantic Ocean a flight throughair, between the very hem ispheres of earth! H ow can I do, whyshould I dare, what others, more experienced and influential, haveeither failed to do or not attempted? Difficulties seem insurmountable. W asn't m y classmate, L ieutenant G athercoal, lost on a fl ightacross Lake M ichigan last year? That's a m inute body of watercompared to the Atlantic Ocean. According to the last news I had,they never found a trace of him. But of course he was flying anO X X - 6 engine. F o r reliability, yo u can't com pare an O X X - 6 witha Whirlwind.

4Lambert Field lies in farming country about ten miles north

west of the St. Louis business district. A pilot, fly ing high above itssodded acres, sees the Missouri R iver in the distance, bendingnorth and then east to spew its muddy waters into the clearerMississippi. The city nestles vaguely in its pall of smoke, a different textured patch contrasting with fields and forests. Southward,wooded foothills step up toward the distant Ozark Mountains.

Lambert Field is named after Major Albert Bond Lambert,who comm anded a school for balloon p ilots during the WorldWar, and who is am ong the most active leaders in M idwesternaviation. Selected for the site of the National A ir R aces in 1923,it was enlarged to present size by planking over a little stream


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TH E ST . LOUIS-CHICAGO MAIL [21]which cut through the eastern end. There are no runways, but theclay sod is good surface for any size of aircraft during summermonths. In freezing weather, gusty winds and deepening ruts makeoperation difficult.

Lambert Field's major commercial activity is carried on bythe R obertson Aircraft C orp ora tion, built and m anaged by theR obertson brothers, Bill , Frank, and Dan. A little, stove-heatedoffice, two frame warehouses for airplane and engine parts, andhalf of a civilian hangar, house its operations. T he Corporation'smajor income results from the sale of reconditioned Army training planes, engines, and spares all placed on the market atextraordinarily low prices.

Except on week ends, when the National Guard Squadroncomes out in force, there are seldom more than a half-dozen pilotson the field, and the chief activity consists of training students.O ne can always make a few extra dollars and build up flying timeby instructing. Besides there is no better way to learn the tricksof air and aircraft.

Those of us who instruct know Lambert Field as a child knowsthe details of his home and yard. We know the erosions on itsshallow slope, the downdraft over Anglum, the depressions wheredrain tiles have caved in. In every azimuth there's a reminder ofsome past incident of flight. One pushes his plane out of a hangarthat housed the C urtiss Navy racer. (It left its source of soundsomewhere in the a ir behind as it fla shed around the py lons.) A tthis spot, just beyond the line, G eorge H arm on was k illed whenhis pilot stalled on a left chandelle. (I helped cut him out of thewreckage unconscious but still alive. H e died on the ro ad to thehospital.) Against an east wind, one takes off over the cornfieldwhere Captain Bill spun in after his N ationa l Guard Jenny's enginefailed. (By some miracle he wasn't hurt, and climbed out of thecrash before we reached him.) There's where Smith and Swen-grosh died when they lost a wing in a loop. There's where FrankR obertson and Pres Sultan clipp ed the top from a big cottonwoodtree, without even crack ing a spar . (T he trunk was eight inches indiameter where their Jenny snapped it off.) O n the side of that


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[ 2 2 ] The Spiri t o f St . L ouisd i t c h i s w h e r e B u d G u r n e y b r o k e h is a r m i n a p a r ac h u te s p ot-l a n d i n g co n t es t . T h e p i g p en b y t h e wh i t e f a rm h o u se i s wh ereO . E . S c o t t o n c e n o se d o v e r .

H o w Sco t t y l o v es t o te l l t h a t s tory! His engine cu t on take-off .H e w asn ' t h i g h en o u g h t o t u rn . S t r a ig h t ah ead l a y t h e p i g p e n , an di n i t h e l a n d e d . M u c k c a u g h t h i s w h e e l s a n d w h i p p e d h i m u p s i d ed o w n . H e fo u n d h i m se l f h an g i n g o n t h e sa fe ty b e l t , h i s h ea d t w oo r t h r e e f ee t ab o v e a s t i n k i n g w a l l o w , " w i t h a l l th o se p i g s sq u ea l in g a n d n u d g i n g i n a r o u n d m e , ju s t as t h o u g h I w a s o n e o f ' e m ! "

S c o t t y i s manager of the field, an d i t s o l d es t an d m o s t cau t i o u sp i l o t . H e o w ns a n O X - 5 S t an d ard w i t h w i n g s t h a t h av en ' t b eenr e - c o v e r e d f o r so m a n y y e a r s t h a t y o u c a n p o k e y o u r f in g er t h r o u g ht h e i r v a rn i sh - s t i f f en ed fab r i c . Wh en wea t h er i s g o o d h i s p l an e i sa l w a y s o n t h e l i n e , r ead y t o ca r ry an y p assen g er w h o ' l l p a y fived o l l a r s f o r a r id e . S c o t ty i s a l s o p i l o t o f th e n e w T r a v e l A i r w h i c hwas b o u g h t l as t y ear b y H a r o l d B i x b y , a S t . L o u i s b a n k e r w h ob e c a m e i n te r e s te d i n a v i a t i o n . W i t h a n O X X - 6 en g i n e , de e p b l u efu se l ag e , an d sh i n i n g , n i ck e l -p l a t e d s t ru t s , i t 's th e m o s t m o d ernan d a t t r ac t i v e p l an e i n o u r h an g ars .

S c o t t y h a s l e t m e f ly th e T r a v e l A i r s e v e r a l tim e s , a n d i n t r o d u c e d m e t o it s o w n e r . T o u s o n t h e field i t ' s m o r e t h a n a s y m b o lof bet te r a i rc ra f t t o co m e . I t ' s a l i n k w i t h t h e p o wer fu l b u s i n essw o r l d . B i x b y i s o n e o f t h e m en wh o ru n t h e gre a t ci ty o f S t . L o u i s ,y e t h e l o o k s o n f ly ers as so m et h i n g m o re t h an acro b a t s an d d are d e v i l s . J u d g i n g f r o m a m o r e s t a bl e v i e w p o i n t , h e t o o b e l ie v e s t ha ta v i a t i o n h a s a f u tu r e. H i s T r a v e l A i r , res t ing on the l i n e , is l i k e asignpost assur ing us t h a t t h e r o a d w e fo l low l ead s t o ward fe r t i l el a n d s .

S i n c e B i x b y b o u g h t h i s p l an e sev era l o f t h e c i t y ' s b u s i n essm enhave s tar ted flying. T h e r e ' s H a r r y K n i g h t t h e b r o k e r , w h o ' s t a k i n gle ss on s. A n d E a r l T h o m p s o n t h e i n s u r a n c e e x e c u t i v e , w i t h h isg o l d e n - w i n g e d L a i r d . I ' v e g i v e n h i m a l i t t l e i n s t r u c t io n n o w a n dt h e n . T h o m p s o n i s th e k i n d o f m a n w h o ' l l l i s t en t o m y i d eas . I ' v eof ten t a l k e d t o h i m a b o u t a v i a t io n , a n d h e k n o w s t h a t I can f ly .I ' l l t e le p h o n e t o m o r r o w f o r a n a p p o i n t m e n t . M e a n w h i l e , I ' l l g et apad o f p a p e r a n d o u t l in e a p l a n o f a c t i o n .

spirit of st. louis: a scribner classic by charles lindbergh

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