My father remembers what he was doing 87 years ago this week… really! As a five year-old boy he heard “the men” talking about Charles Lindbergh taking off from Roosevelt Field and attempting to fly across the Atlantic. It left an impression that has stayed with him until today and for Morgan it has been a very long journey to get to "today."It may have been because of the way my father talked about him or because of my own interest in aviation that I developed a fascination with Lindbergh. He was born a year before the Wright brothers made their first flight at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. He grew up in Minnesota with an interest in everything mechanical and a passion for flying.
In his book We, Pilot and Plane Lindbergh wrote: "The life of an aviator seemed to me ideal. It involved skill. It brought adventure. It made use of the latest developments of science… There were times in an aeroplane when it seemed I had escaped mortality…” I identified with those sentiments as a young man and had my commercial pilot’s license by the time I was 21 years old.
In 1919, Raymond Orteig, a hotel owner in New York City, offered a prize of $25,000 to the first pilot to fly nonstop from New York to Paris. By 1927 four men had died attempting to win the money and several others were left injured. Still, the prize remained out of reach. Lindbergh convinced nine St. Louis businessmen to finance his own attempt - using their funds to purchase a modified plane built by the Ryan Aviation company in San Diego, CA.
Many people doubted the ability of a single-engine plane to cross the Atlantic. Previous attempts had all included multi-engine planes. Also, other flights had included a co-pilot for the 3,500 mile journey. Lindbergh decided to fly alone with no parachute or radio – all with the purpose of having more gasoline on board. As a result, the newspapers called him "the Flying Fool."
On May 20, 1927, at 7:52 a.m., the Spirit of St. Louis accelerated down the runway and lifted into the sky. The plane barely cleared the telephone wires at the end of the strip. Lindbergh flew north by northeast over Cape Cod and Nova Scotia, finally setting out over the ocean as the sun set.
Lindbergh found his biggest struggle was drowsiness – he had slept very little in the days leading up to his takeoff. He fought to stay awake as he occasionally flew only ten feet above the ocean.
After 30 hours of non-stop flight, a tiny fishing boat gave him hope that he had almost reached Europe, and within an hour he saw land below him. After flying over Ireland and England, he headed through the clearing night weather to France.
Finally, after traveling more than 3,600 miles in 33 and a half hours, Lindbergh landed in Paris. A crowd estimated to be between 100,000 to 150,000 swarmed around the plane to welcome him. The papers stopped calling him the “Flying Fool” and he became “the Lone Eagle" and "Lucky Lindy."
On Tuesday of this week - the 87th anniversary of Lindbergh’s takeoff - another boy began his own adventurous journey. Isaac Robert was born in Chicago to my daughter, Krista Ophus. I can only imagine what kind of things life will present to him in the years ahead. If he lives as long as his great-grandfather he will still be around well into the 22nd Century. I hope that by then they manage to get a few kinks worked out of this thing we call life.
It was Samuel Clemens who wrote, “There comes a time in every rightly constructed boy's life when he has a raging desire to go somewhere and dig for hidden treasure.” My prayer is that Isaac will spend his time as he travels to the next century searching for the right treasure in the right place.
Godspeed, Isaac Robert. You are cleared for takeoff.
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