Part 10

I have asked Fitzhugh Green to write a brief account of my various receptions not only because I think he has caught the spirit of what I have tried to do for aviation, but because I trust his judgment in selection of material.

A LITTLE OF WHAT THE WORLD THOUGHT OF LINDBERGH

BY

FITZHUGH GREEN

I

PARIS

Charles A. Lindbergh was the “dark horse” of the New York to Paris flight; also he flew alone. These two facts, combined with the tragic disappearance of the French trans-Atlantic fliers, Nungesser and Coli, shortly before he left New York, emphasized the suspense with which Paris awaited his arrival.

He landed safely on a dark night about on schedule time. This was the culmination of what might be called the mechanical aspect of his success.

In consequence of these unique but rather simple circumstances it was natural that there should follow a good deal of notoriety for the flier. Already the so-called “trans-Atlantic Air Race” had received much advertising. Several planes had been grooming for the long flight; and there had been much speculation about the practicability of such an effort. Lindbergh’s landing figuratively rang the bell as the winner came under the wire.

The first man over was bound to be recognized as an audacious pioneer. Without regard for his character, creed or aspirations the world was going to come forward and say “Well done!”

The first man to fly from New York to Paris was bound to be fêted and decorated. He would tell the story of his flight and there would be ephemeral discussion of its bearing on the future of aviation. Wild speculation about the world being on the brink of a great air age would follow.

The first man to fly from New York to Paris was bound to excite the admiration of his own countrymen. He would be met on his return by committees, have to make some speeches at banquets and receive appropriate decorations for his valor.

The first man to fly from New York to Paris would write several magazine articles and a book. He might make some money by lecturing. He would be offered contracts for moving pictures, jobs as manager of something or other, and honorary memberships in a hundred organizations of more or less doubtful value.

Then someone would break a homerun record or commit a murder; whereupon the world would forget with pitiless promptness the first man to fly the broad Atlantic.

Who, by the way, can name the dauntless pilots that circled the globe by air not so many months ago?

The reason Lindbergh’s story is different is that when his plane came to a halt on Le Bourget field that black night in Paris, Lindbergh the man kept on going.

The phenomenon of Lindbergh took its start with his flight across the ocean; but in its entirety it was almost as distinct from that flight as though he had never flown at all.

It is probable that in the three ensuing weeks Lindbergh loosed the greatest torrent of mass emotion ever witnessed in human history.

This narrative is a record of events, not an analysis. It therefore cannot pretend to explain the “phenomenon of Lindbergh.” Whether it was his modesty or his looks or his refusal to be tempted by money or by fame that won him such a following we cannot say. Perhaps the world was ripe for a youth with a winning smile to flash across its horizon and by the brilliance of his achievement momentarily to dim the ugliness of routine business, politics and crime. Many said that his sudden meteor-like appearance from obscurity was an act of Providence.

Whatever the reason for it all, the fact remains that there was a definite “phenomenon of Lindbergh” quite the like of which the world had never seen. This strange phenomenon is the opening fact of our simple narrative of events culled from a list far too long to include in the space allowed.

All who followed press accounts of the flier’s adventures after landing agree that his “meteor” did not glow in its full radiance at first. There was a faint but unmistakable artificiality in the news reports on this side of the Atlantic immediately following his arrival in Paris. To be sure, unstinted praise was poured on his courage and on the skill of his unprecedented flight. But the true Lindbergh had not yet impressed itself upon America.

His personality caught the French at the very moment when their natural enthusiasm for his deed was at its height. It was like pushing a swing just when it has started downward.

Two French aviation officers extricated him from the milling crowd at Le Bourget on arrival night and succeeded in getting him to the American Embassy where newspaper men located him at 1:30 A.M. The journalists naturally found the flier tired after having had practically no sleep for nearly sixty hours. But he was far from exhausted and he had no maudlin recital for the pencil-pushers who so eagerly surrounded him.

He awakened near noon next day. After breakfast he went out on a balcony in response to crowds in the street and for the first time after his triumph stood face to face in daylight with citizens of France. There was a burst of applause. As we have said, the first man to have flown from New York to Paris, was bound to get just this applause. Then something else happened.

We talked to one of the Diplomatic Corps who witnessed this first public appearance. He said: “The people kept on cheering and clapping and waving their hats or handkerchiefs; but I suddenly had a feeling they were applauding mechanically, as if their attention were rooted on something that fascinated them.

“I glanced up at Lindbergh to see if he were doing anything he shouldn’t do. No, he was just smiling and his ruddy face was alight with appreciation.

“I looked from Lindbergh to the crowd. Then I realized that something was going on right before my eyes that I couldn’t see. Lindbergh’s personality was reaching out and winning the French just as surely as his flight had reached out and found their city.”

That was the beginning of the “phenomenon of Lindbergh.” It grew in a steady crescendo as the days passed. We saw it full force in Washington. We saw it reach incredible heights in New York.

Procession of events fitted into and abetted development of the situation. There was the telephone conversation from Paris to his mother in Detroit four thousand miles away. _His mother_: the world rolled the two words around its collective tongue as might a wine connoisseur his nectar.

He called on Madame Nungesser, another mother, whose equally brave son had disappeared but a few days before in the stormy wastes of the same ocean he had crossed. Their exchange was brief, but the whole world listened and wiped away a tear. In simple compassion Lindbergh told the mother not to give up hope. You have to know the boy to feel a fraction of the reassurance he must have conveyed.

He visited the blind and crippled veterans of the great war. He smiled at them; which was enough for those who could see, who in turn ransacked their expressive tongue to explain “_le joli Lindbergh_” to those who couldn’t.

He called on the President of the Republic. He was dressed in plain clothes but the meeting was full of affability on both sides, with Sheldon Whitehouse of the Embassy acting as interpreter. The President pinned the Cross of the Legion of Honor upon the lapel of the boy’s borrowed suit and kissed him on both cheeks.

By this time France was alive to Lindbergh; America was waking up.

At the Aero Club of France he made his first speech. His precise laconic diction was one more step forward in the phenomenon of Lindbergh. The speech was printed widely in America. The Club was jammed that day and Minister of War Paul Painlevé, surrounded by fifty of the leading aviators of France, received the guest of honor. When the time came Herrick quietly leaned over and told Lindbergh he must respond. Whereupon the latter rose and said that Nungesser and Coli had attempted a far greater thing than he when they took-off from Paris for New York. Their difficulties had far exceeded his. In any event he urged France not to give up hope. Nothing could have been more tactful.

Ambassador Herrick’s speech which followed emphasized the strengthened good-will between France and America. “This young man from out of the west brings you better than anything else the spirit of America,” he said. “His exploit shows you that the heart of the United States beats for France. It was needed at this moment that the love of these two great people should manifest itself, and it is this young boy who has brought that about. After his European trip is over he will go back to America and he will be able to tell them as no other man could that France really loves the people of the United States.”

Thus was the idea of “ambassadorship without portfolio” initiated. When press and people, and especially statesmen, began to see how the current strain between France and America was slackening as a result of Lindbergh’s visit, the idea grew doubly strong.

On the following day he went to a large luncheon of 600 Americans at the American Club. On Wednesday he visited the French Chamber of Deputies. There was no session in progress, yet most of the members present followed him to the reception room of the President’s residence. Like ferment in wine, Lindbergh’s personality was working hour by hour.

Here again the increased cordiality between France and America became the keynote of the interchange. The adored General Gouraud said: “It is not only two continents that you have united, but the hearts of all men everywhere in admiration of the simple courage of a man who does great things.... You and your youth belong to that glorious band of which M. Bleriot standing here beside you was one, and which has opened the great spaces. We greet you also in the name of those others of your countrymen who, in the Lafayette Escadrille, died here for France--who, like you, helped to frame that unalterable fraternity, that indissoluble friendship which unites our two peoples.”

In like vein but with an eye to practicality Lindbergh replied:

“Gentlemen, 132 years ago Benjamin Franklin was asked: ‘What good is your balloon? What will it accomplish?’ He replied: ‘What good is a new born child?’ Less than twenty years ago when I was not far advanced from infancy M. Bleriot flew across the English Channel and was asked ‘What good is your aeroplane? What will it accomplish?’ Today those same skeptics might ask me what good has been my flight from New York to Paris. My answer is that I believe it is the forerunner of a great air service from America to France, America to Europe, to bring our peoples nearer together in understanding and in friendship than they have ever been.”

The speaker’s abrupt but unmistakable sincerity made a profound impression upon his hearers.

It is impossible to do justice to the full Paris visit. Yet it is not difficult even now to sense the ever-increasing aura of popularity and affection that surrounded Lindbergh wherever he went.

He lunched with Bleriot, the first man to fly across the English Channel, who presented him with a piece of the propeller of that famous plane of early days. He had a notable visit with Marshal Foch. He went to the Invalides surrounded by an admiring crowd. He went to the home of Marshal Joffre. He attended a formal lunch with Minister Briand.

Meanwhile a growing avalanche of mail was descending upon the Embassy. There were startling business offers running into millions of dollars. Cables from all parts of the world urged Lindbergh to write this or that, or agree to appear at highly remunerative rates under any and all circumstances. He did not handle this mail or accept any of these offers. He could not do the former, and he would not do the latter. But he was not cynical; only gravely dubious about the results of his original enterprise getting so far out of his control.

On Thursday of that Paris week came the official reception by the City. By this time the popularity of the boy held full sway. It is said that half a million people lined the streets through which the flier drove in company with his host, the Ambassador.

At the City Hall, Lindbergh received the Gold Medal of the Municipality of Paris. In a brief speech he told the Council that he believed his flight was the forerunner of a regular commercial air service between the United States and France. He added that Nungesser and Coli would have voiced the same thought if they had landed in America.

Ambassador Herrick then made one of his finest and most widely quoted speeches. “I am not a religious man,” he said, “but I believe there are certain things that happen in life which can only be described as the interpretation of a Divine Act. I would not be surprised if this flight marks the beginning of a return of that sympathy and affection which lasted 150 years between France and America. Lindbergh brought you the spirit of America in a manner in which it could never be brought in a diplomatic sack.”

Next morning Lindbergh got up at daybreak and went to Le Bourget where he found a small black Nieuport 300 H.P. fighting plane awaiting him. To the delight of the French fliers as well as the populace he went aloft and began stunting with a skill and ease that stamped him once and for all an expert. Again he rose a peg in French esteem. Nor was this a studied performance any more than his modesty in bearing or his brevity in oratory were studied. It was only another integral part of the “phenomenon of Lindbergh.”

At noon there was a luncheon at the Ministry of War. Later he was received by the Senators at the Luxembourg Palace. A reception and official visits followed. In the evening he attended a gala performance at the Champs-Élysées Theatre.

The very recital of his festivities and honors grows monotonous.

Next day he left. About eight in the morning he motored to Le Bourget and put in three hours grooming his plane for its next flight. At noon he hopped off for Brussels, circling the Eiffel Tower and dropping a note of good-by and thanks to Paris in the Place de la Concorde on his way.

II

BRUSSELS

The Belgian reception was one of quiet dignity. King Albert had given orders that at all costs Lindbergh must come off the field untouched.

The flier landed at the Evere Flying Field near Brussels at exactly 3.15 P.M. The crowd that greeted him was never out of hand. Prime Minister Jasper came forward at once and said: “I am happy and proud, my Captain, to be the first man in the name of Belgium to extend to you our warmest felicitations for your great exploit, which not only draws nearer our two continents, but the hearts of our people as well.”

As Mr. Gibson, the new American Ambassador to Belgium, was in America at the time, his place was temporarily occupied by Mr. Dunn, Chargé d’Affaires. By him Lindbergh was presented to the Duke of Brabant, heir to the throne, who formally welcomed the visitor in the name of King Albert. Meanwhile the plane had been carefully wheeled upon a platform so that everyone might take a look at it.

After motoring to the American Embassy to change his clothes, Lindbergh laid a wreath on the tomb of Belgium’s unknown soldier.

It was at the reception at the Palace that Lindbergh met his first king. King Albert treated him with a kind informality characteristic of that much-loved monarch.

Next morning, Lindbergh slept until nearly nine. Then he went out to the Evere Airdrome, where he showed his plane to King Albert and Queen Elizabeth. King Albert in his turn took the visitor to see some late types of Belgian planes and personally explained their technical features.

At noon came the civic reception at the Hotel de Ville. When Lindbergh arrived the square was lined with troops. Burgomaster Max, with the aldermen of Brussels, was there to meet him. There was also a welcoming delegation known as the Old Volunteers of the Great War, whose members, despite their fifty years or more, had rushed in 1914 to join the colors.

Burgomaster Max made a speech in English, saying that the flight was a wonderful sporting performance. He added that because the non-stop flight from New York to Paris had appeared to be an undertaking beyond human forces, the victory was really a victory of humanity. He concluded by declaring with great feeling:

“In your glory there is glory for all men. An apparently impossible task loomed before you. You surmounted it. It is helpful and encouraging for those who think we must never despair of human effort. You must have heard many times during these five days that in crossing the ocean with your ‘Spirit of St. Louis’ you have done more than all the diplomats to bring closer together the different peoples. I repeat it myself. When a statement is being commonly used, a Burgomaster should not hesitate to express it again, as his function when he speaks is to reflect public opinion.

“In uniting by airway your young country with the old soil of Europe you have drawn nearer together these two continents and you have the right to claim the title of Citizen of the World. The way now open, others will follow you, as others tried in vain to precede you.

“I am thus certain, as we welcome you here, to express your own sentiments in mentioning with emotion the names of Nungesser and Coli who a few days ago, with an assurance as great as yours, started over the Atlantic but never reached their goal.

“In you the symbol of daring and courage is impossible not to admire.

“Heroes always consider what they have done as a simple matter. This is precisely because they are heroes. I salute in you, dear Captain Lindbergh, a noble son of your great nation which at an hour when civilization was in danger came to its help and with us conquered.”

Lindbergh replied to this speech by saying that there were two things he looked forward to when he took-off from New York--seeing France and Belgium:

“This afternoon I must leave,” he went on, “I wish I could stay here weeks instead of hours. I certainly will never forget your welcome.

“Less than twenty-five years ago, the first flight was made in an airplane. It will not be many years before we have regular trans-Atlantic service. I congratulate Belgium on her remarkable progress in aviation. You have a wonderful air force here. Aviation will be one of the great forces of the future to bring nations together.”

Then the Burgomaster took Lindbergh’s hand and presented him with a little leather case containing a gold medal inscribed in English:

“To Captain Charles Lindbergh, the City of Brussels, May 29th, 1927.”

Lindbergh left Brussels for London in the early afternoon. On his way over Belgium he paid a tribute to the American soldiers who sleep in the cemetery at Werington near Ghent. Cutting off his motor, he flew low over the field, but little above the rows of white crosses. He dropped a wreath of flowers, circled the cemetery twice, then headed out for England.

In a sense this visit to Belgium was a surer test of the man than either of the other countries. His stay was very brief; his hosts neither spoke his tongue as did the English, nor had as natural a reservoir of emotion to draw upon as did the French. Yet Lindbergh’s easy dignity, his simple bearing, and always his ready smile, were as quick to earn him the permanent friendship of King and Queen as to excite the adulation of the crowd.

It was said everywhere of him when he left: “We hope he comes back some day.” No traveller receives higher praise than that.

III

LONDON

The flight from Brussels was comparatively simple and there was little or no strain on the plane. The pilot steered straight across the Channel, reaching England on the southeast corner.

The weather was nearly perfect; in fact Lindbergh was never privileged during his stay in England to see a real London fog.

It did not seem long before he found himself throttling his motor above the great field at Croyden on the outskirts of London. A tremendous crowd had gathered--a crowd almost as large as that which had watched him land that memorable night at Le Bourget. And again no sooner had his wheels touched the ground than this crowd, too, made a rush for his plane. Fortunately, officials of the Royal Air Club dashed up in a motor car and got the pilot aboard just in time to rescue him from the uncontrollable enthusiasm of the throng.

As in Paris, all the carefully laid plans of the reception committee were swept aside. Even Secretary for Air, Sir Samuel Hoare, and Ambassador Houghton were swallowed up by the multitude. Later another crowd, almost as large, was found waiting at the American Embassy for a glimpse of the American air traveller.

Then came welcomed rest. Lindbergh dined with some friends of the Ambassador and went to bed early. Next morning he went direct to Croyden and found that, despite his fears, very little harm had been done to his ship save for one little hole in the wing and a landing strut that had lost two bolts.

Monday was a comparatively quiet day. There was a luncheon at the Embassy attended by many persons prominent in the government and otherwise. One war hero was perhaps especially interesting to an air man. This was Lieut.-Col. W. A. Bishop, the Canadian ace, who had brought down 72 German planes.

In the afternoon a Memorial Day service was held at St. Margaret’s Church, Westminster. This honoring in England of our Civil War dead was a strange experience for the visitor. One of the veterans present, Jabez Jrayell, aged 86, had known President McKinley as a comrade in arms. After the service and sermon a procession formed, which, headed by the Stars and Stripes, moved slowly from the church to Westminster Abbey. There, Ambassador Houghton, with Lindbergh at his side, walked to a tomb and laid a wreath on which was inscribed:

“In memory of England’s unknown warrior from the American people.”

In the evening British newspaper men gave Lindbergh a dinner in the Abraham Lincoln room of the Savoy. On the speaker’s table before the guest of honor were five sandwiches and a half gallon jar of water. The Chairman gravely announced: “Captain Lindbergh will now partake of his customary meal.” After a round of laughing applause the real dinner began.

Next morning was the 31st of May. On this day Lindbergh was received by the King of England. King George talked to him alone for some time about his flight, and by his conversation showed he understood a great deal about flying. Setting aside all precedent, he personally presented Lindbergh with the Royal Air Force Cross. The only other Americans who ever received this cross were the crew of the NC-4, the United States Navy plane, which crossed the Atlantic by way of the Azores.

After his conversation with the King, Lindbergh was presented to Queen Mary. From Buckingham Palace he went to York House to be received by the Prince of Wales. The Prince wanted to know what he was going to do in the future, to which Lindbergh promptly replied: “I am going to keep on flying.”

He visited Prime Minister Baldwin at Number 10 Downing Street, the little house from which so big a slice of this world is being run. Mr. Baldwin took him out on the balcony to watch the colorful ceremony known as the Trooping of the Colors, which epitomizes the dignity and power of the British empire.