Charles Lindbergh - The Lone Eagle

[thedrifter]

P-38 pilot, America Firster, Conservationist




On May 20-21, 1927 Charles Lindbergh made the first solo, nonstop New York to Paris flight in the Spirit of St. Louis. After the 3,610-mile, 34 hour, flight across the Atlantic, Lindbergh became an international hero, and the most famous man in the world. Today, his airplane, the Spirit of St. Louis, hangs in the atrium of the National Air and Space Museum.

After bursting into international fame with his translantic flight, Lindbergh remained in the public eye, often the subject of controversy. Retiring in later years to the island of Maui, Hawaii, he died there in 1974.

Youth
Born on February 4, 1902, Lindbergh was mechanically inclined from childhood. The son of a Swedish immigrant, Charles August "C.A." Lindbergh, and his second wife, Evangeline Land, young Charles had a rootless and somewhat solitary childhood. For many years he and his mother moved between their primary home in Little Falls, Minnesota, her family's house in Detroit, and Washington, D.C., where his Congressman father spent a most of his time. Charles had no siblings his age (two much older half-sisters) and few close friends his own age. He learned to love nature, the outdoors, solitude, and developed a passion for collecting and analyzing things.
Barnstormer & Air Mail Pilot
Fascinated with aviation, he earned his pilot's license, and in 1923 bought a Jenny to take up barnstorming.
In 1924, Lindbergh entered a U.S. Army flying school at San Antonio, Texas. He graduated first in his class the following year, then became the first air mail pilot between Chicago, Illinois, and St, Louis, Missouri. He became the first three-time member of the Caterpillar Club, that exclusive fraternity of people who had saved their lives with parachutes. While he loved flying of any sort, the airmail routine was tedious. He heard of a fine new airplane, the Wright Bellanca, whose engine promised to give it a range of 4,000 miles. He pondered what could be achieved in such a machine.

His Transatlantic Flight
In 1919, New York hotel businessman Raymond Orteig had offered a $25,000 prize for the first nonstop flight between New York and Paris. Several attempts had been made to capture the prize, notably by French WWI ace, Rene Fonck, in 1926. The transatlantic challenge became somewhat of a national obsession. Lindbergh convinced a group of St. Louis businessmen to back him in an attempt to win the Orteig prize. They committed $10,000 for his plan. On a tight budget, he went looking for an airplane. At first, Charles Levine, the owner of the Wright Bellanca offered it to him for only $15,000, a great discount from its cost of $25,000. His backers okayed the extra funds. After excitedly traveling to New York to finalize the deal, Lindbergh was dismayed to learn that while Levine would sell him the Bellanca, he insisted on naming the pilot himself. Lindbergh looked for other aircraft. Other manufacturers were unhelpful.

At this time, early 1927, the Orteig challenge was heating up, amidst great publicity. Rene Fonck was rumored to be preparing another attempt in a new Sikorsky biplane. Richard Byrd, of North Pole fame, had an expensive Fokker trimotor for his effort. Levine and Clarence Chamberlin announced they would try it in the Wright Bellanca. Another pair of Americans, Noel Davis and Stanton Wooster, would also enter. The race was on.

Spirit of St. Louis
A small manufacturer, the Ryan Aeronautical Company of San Diego, agreed to build a plane for Lindbergh, for $6,000 plus the cost of the engine. He went to their small plant in San Diego and supervised the design modifications and the construction his monoplane. Essentially, the Spirit of St. Louis was a custom-built airplane, designed expressly to fly Lindbergh across the Atlantic. A. Scott Berg, in Lindbergh, called it a "two-ton flying gas tank." Lindbergh sacrificed every possible bit of weight for more fuel capacity. No parachute, no radio, no brakes, not even a forward-facing window (a small periscope would do). Twenty-seven feet long, as the design evolved, the wings grew to forty-five feet, to help lift the 2700 pounds (400+ gallons) of gas. The rest of the airplane, the engine, and its pilot only weighed about 2500 pounds. Powered by a state-of-the-art 223hp Wright Whirlwind J-5C engine, the plane could cruise for 4,200 miles. Ryan employees worked day and night to finish the aircraft in just two months. Its tail identified the aircraft as "N-X-211 RYAN NYP" "N" was the international aeronautical code for the United States. "X" stood for experimental. It was the 211th such licensed plane. "RYAN NYP" abbreviated "Ryan New York - Paris."

Engine installed, Ryan charged him $10,580. The press (Lindbergh's nemesis for the rest of his life) got word of this new entrant, and began to tell the country about the handsome young man and his bold, solitary plan. A lone pilot in a single-engine plane allowed little margin for error. In April, as the Spirit neared completion, Noel Davis and Stanton Wooster crashed and died while testing their plane, the American Legion. Commander Byrd's Fokker, America, cracked up and injured three of its crew. Clarence Chamberlin and Levine's Bellanca, named the Columbia, smashed up it landing gear.

By May, after short test flights around Southern California, Lindergh and the Spirit of St. Louis were ready. On the 8th came dramatic news, two French aviators, Charles Nungesser (a WW1 ace) and Francois Coli, had taken off from Paris in L'Oiseau Blanc, the White Bird. They were never heard from again. Undeterred, Lindbergh flew to New York. Stopping briefly in St. Louis to re-fuel, he set a new record for the California-to-New York run, flying it in less than 22 hours. Photographers and reporters greeted him on his arrival at Curtiss Field on Long Island. The other competitors had various problems - Levine was held up by lawsuits, Byrd's trimotor needed work. Bad weather delayed Lindbergh's take-off.

The Flight
But on the morning of May 20, 1927, Lindbergh took off from Roosevelt Field on Long Island. For food, he brought five sandwiches. "If I get to Paris, I won't need any more. And if I don't get to Paris, I won't need any more, either," Lindbergh noted drily. Fox Movietone captured his Ryan monoplane, loaded with 451 gallons of fuel, struggling and bouncing along the runway, barely clearing the telephone wires at the far end. After clearing St. John's, Newfoundland, the 25-year old aviator was hidden from the world. The world waited, spell-bound for word of Lindbergh. Rumors flew. (My Dad, eight years old at the time, recalled waiting for news of Lindbergh. His older brother "came stumping into the house and reported that Lindbergh had crashed. My mother broke down and cried. But of course it wasn't so." - SS) Encountering fog and sleet, he was compelled to fly blind part of the way at an altitude of 1500 feet. At times he flew only 10 feet above the waves. Sighting the coast of Ireland, he turned south towards France. He flew over England and the Channel, and sighted the lights of Paris at 10 o'clock. He shortly touched down at Paris' Le Bourget Field, 33 hours and 30 minutes after he left Long Island. He had covered a distance of 3,610 miles. By making the flight, Lindbergh collected Orteig's $25,000 prize.

The world, and his life, had changed forever. Hundreds of thousands of people met him in Paris. Lionized throughout the city, U.S. Ambassador Myron Herrick took him in, and even arranged for a tailor to sew him new clothes. His triumphant tour of Europe included meeting the kings of Belgium and Britain.

The U.S. Navy cruiser Memphis returned the hero to America. First to Washington, where President Coolidge received him, and then to New York City and its largest ticker tape parade ever. The U.S. Post Office issued an unprecedented commemorative airmail stamp in his honor. U.S. stamps never feature living persons, and thus only Lindbergh's plane and a map of his route were shown



As part of his backers' agreements, he had given the New York Times exclusive coverage of his story and the rights to his authorized story. Lindbergh was so disgusted with ghost-writer Carlyle MacDonald's corny and inaccurate articles that first appeared, he vowed to control anything ever published in his name. He also realized the importance of careful documentation, and began saving all his correspondence and personal papers. (This has been a boon to scholars and historians.) Committed to produce a 40,000 word book, he buried himself at Falaise, Harry Guggenheim's Long Island estate, and wrote We in one month. It was well-written, spare and accurate, and became an immediate best-seller.

In December, 1927, he flew the Spirit to Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, and other Cental American countries. In Mexico, he first met Ambassador Dwight Morrow and his daughters.

On his return to the U.S., he devoted himself to the development of aviation, helping to start the airline that would become TWA.



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[thedrifter]

In 1929, he was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. That same year, he flew again to Mexico, again stayed with the Morrow family, and soon proposed to the Ambassador's daughter, Anne. They became "The First Couple of the Air," flying all over, notably flying a Lockheed Sirius to Japan and China, which Anne later described in North to the Orient. In 1930 their first child, Charles A. Lindbergh, Jr., was born. Lindbergh was unprepared for the attention that accompanied his fame. He and his wife were constantly hounded by the press, and the more reclusive and uncooperative they became, the more intensely the press pursued them. Determined to escape from "yellow journalism," he built a house on a 390-acre tract in a remote area of New Jersey, near the small town of Hopewell. During construction, Charles and Anne lived at Next Day Hill, her parents' secure mansion in Montclair, New Jersey.

The Kidnapping
While living in Hopewell, in 1932 with Anne and their toddler son, tragedy struck. On the night of March 1, young Charles disappeared, kidnapped. A note demanding $50,000 ransom was left. Hoping to save his child, Lindbergh was willing to pay. An unlikely intermediary, John F. Condon, "Jafsie," emerged and communicated with the ransomer through newspaper ads. At a spooky nighttime meeting in a Bronx cemetary, they paid up, using gold certificates with carefully noted serial numbers. But the baby was never returned, his remains found in the Hopewell woods two months later.
For two years no arrests were made. Then in 1934, Bruno Hauptmann, an immigrant German carpenter, was charged with the crime, after passing one of the ransom money bills at a New York gas station. More than $14,000 of the ransom money was found concealed about his home. In 1935, he was tried in the most sensational,"trial of the century," in a circus atmosphere not seen until the O.J. Simpson trial in 1995.

Evidence
A key piece of evidence was the ladder used to gain access to the baby's second floor room, and left at the Lindbergh house. The ladder had been made with wood from Hauptmann's attic. A sketch of the ladder was found in Hauptmann's papers. Handwriting experts confirmed that Hauptmann's handwriting matched the ransom note. The note included numerous peculiar mis-spellings, like "singnature", which Hauptmann unwittingly repeated on the witness stand. A large portion of the marked ransom notes were found in Hauptmann's garage. Witnesses swore they had seen him spend the notes. Hauptmann quit his job the day after the ransom money was paid! Among his possessions was a complete carpenter's tool set, missing only a three-quarter inch chisel - which was found at the Lindbergh house on the night of the kidnapping. Jafsie's phone number and address were written in a closet in Hauptmann's house. Unlike Simpson, Hauptmann was found guilty, and electrocuted in 1936.

The famous trial has been the subject of numerous conspiracy theories and alternative explanations. Hauptmann's widow, Anna, maintained his innocence until her death. Lindbergh himself never doubted Hauptmann's guilt.



America First
After the trial ended, the Lindberghs' second son, Jon, was born. Continued unwanted attention and security concerns prompted Charles and Anne to move to England. They moved into a run-down old country estate outside of London. In the late Thirties, Lindbergh lost much of his popularity with the American people. Traveling in Europe, he visited Germany and was very impressed by the newly dynamic, and militaristic state. While touring German aviation facilities for the American military attache, Goering presented him with the Verdienstkreuz Deutscher Adler, the Service Cross of the German Eagle, a medal adorned with swastikas. It would later prove to be more of an albatross than an eagle, but Lindbergh refused to return it.
Lindbergh worried over America's involvement in an upcoming European war. He decided that he could better help warn America of the threat posed by Soviet Russia if he returned to the States. He sailed in the Aquitania in April, 1939. The war in Europe started that September, and Lindbergh began to advocate neutrality in articles and speeches. By 1940 the Germans had conquered France and threatened to overrun Great Britain.

While President Roosevelt and many Americans recognized the Nazi threat to the world, other "anti-interventionists" opposed any aid to Britain, and wanted to maintain a steadfast neutrality. In retrospect, with our knowledge of the true horrors of Naziism, the Holocaust, etc. it's easy to dismiss the isolationists as misguided puppets. At the time, things were not so clear, and many patriotic Americans felt that neutrality was in our best interest. Among the prominent Americans opposed to involvement in the war were Senator Bennett Champ Clark, Colonel Robert McCormick (publisher of the Chicago Tribune), Captain Eddie Rickenbacker, Senator Burton K. Wheeler, the Socialist Norman Thomas, novelist Kathleen Norris, and of course, Charles Lindbergh.

These were among the founders of the "Committee to Defend America First", the America Firsters. Lindbergh was their most popular speaker. During the Lend-Lease hearings, He was called to testify before Congress in early 1941, Senator Claude Pepper wanted Lindbergh to provide some background on the development of his views on German aviation and the overall European situation. He started by asking, "Colonel Lindbergh, when did you first go to Europe?" Lindbergh deadpanned, "Nineteen twenty-seven, sir."

His public disagreements with President Roosevelt increased. Following what he felt to be a personal insult, which Roosevelt declined to apologize for, Lindbergh resigned his Army Air Corps commission in April, 1941. The split in the country deepened.

But Lindbergh went farther than others as 1941 progressed. In a famous article in Collier's magazine, and shortly afterward, in a speech at Des Moines, Iowa, Lindbergh alienated many Americans. In the Des Moines speech, he claimed that three groups were pushing America into the war in Europe: Great Britain, the Roosevelt administration, and Jews.

"Instead of agitating for war, Jews in this country should be opposing it in every way, for they will be the first to feel its consequences. Tolerance is a virtue that depends upon peace and strength. History shows that it cannot survive war and devastation. ... Large Jewish ownership and influence in our motion pictures, our press, our radio and our government constitute a great danger to our country."

There was national revulsion at this perceived anti-Semitism; even some America Firsters repudiated him. Streets that had been named in his honor were re-named. During this period, many citizens wrote to FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover indicating their mistrust of Lindbergh and questioning his loyalty to the United States. This file consists of the letters sent to the Director, and various newspaper articles that were written about Mr. Lindbergh.

War
Pearl Harbor changed everything. Lindbergh and all the America Firsters realized that neutrality was no longer possible. The Axis powers had attacked us. Lindbergh immediately applied for reinstatement in the Army Air Corps. President Roosevelt (a great man, one of our greatest presidents, but also a politician) made it clear that there was no place in the Air Corps for Lindbergh. Personal appeals to Hap Arnold and Secretary of War Henry Stimson were fuitless.

Anxious to contribute in any way possible, Lindbergh sought a position in private industry. But he found that many companies did not want to alienate the administration and jeopardize contracts; many doors were closed. Henry Ford had no such worries, and brought on Lindbergh to help with the huge B-24 plant at Willow Run. While he worked hard, advising Henry Ford on manufacturing wasn't "adding a lot of value." By 1943, Lindbergh was testing high-altitude pressure chambers at the Mayo Clinic and test flying Corsairs for Chance Vought in Connecticut.

Corsair Pilot
In January, 1944 he persuaded Marine Corps General Louis Wood to let him help survey the USMC Corsair operations in the Pacific. A few months later, he was flying Corsairs on combat missions with the Marine squadron VMF-223 based on Green Island.

On his first combat mission, the USMC Corsairs escorted B-25's on a bombing run over Rabaul. His F4U, powered by a 2,000 HP Pratt & Whitney radial engine, carried sixteen hundred rounds of .50-caliber ammunition, that could be spewed out at a rate of 5,000 rounds per minute with all six guns firing. They approached the target at 10,000 feet, he saw the ship-strewn harbor. A little ack-ack came up his way, but no Zeros. He saw a few Jap planes in the revetments, but no ground activity. As the first bombs hit the edges of Rabaul, the radio chatter picked up and one pilot had already taken to his life raft. As Lindbergh's flight of F4-U's swung south, explosions erupted from a fuel dump hidden in a coconut grove. A mix of American airplanes roared over: USAAF B-25 bombers, Marine Corps Corsairs, USAAF P-39s, TBF torpedo bombers, and P-38s. The anti-aircraft batteries opened up at the strike planes.

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On his first combat mission, the USMC Corsairs escorted B-25's on a bombing run over Rabaul. His F4U, powered by a 2,000 HP Pratt & Whitney radial engine, carried sixteen hundred rounds of .50-caliber ammunition, that could be spewed out at a rate of 5,000 rounds per minute with all six guns firing. They approached the target at 10,000 feet, he saw the ship-strewn harbor. A little ack-ack came up his way, but no Zeros. He saw a few Jap planes in the revetments, but no ground activity. As the first bombs hit the edges of Rabaul, the radio chatter picked up and one pilot had already taken to his life raft. As Lindbergh's flight of F4-U's swung south, explosions erupted from a fuel dump hidden in a coconut grove. A mix of American airplanes roared over: USAAF B-25 bombers, Marine Corps Corsairs, USAAF P-39s, TBF torpedo bombers, and P-38s. The anti-aircraft batteries opened up at the strike planes.

After delivering their payloads, the bombers headed back; Lindbergh saw one TBF trailing smoke. On the ground at Rabaul, fires burned as the Corsairs lined up for their strafing runs. They flew out beyond range of the AAA, whipped into position, and set their trim tabs to dive. From 7,000 feet, he slanted down towards the enemy at Rabaul ... 4,000 feet ... 1,500 feet ... and, with a clear line of fire, he opened up. The tracers streaked onto and across a roof, and then raked an airstrip.

Lindbergh banked out to sea, his mission complete. But they still had plenty of ammunition. A target of opportunity, the Duke of York, a small island in St. Georges Channel, held a Japanese airstrip and garrison. While strafing, Lindbergh narrowly avoided shooting up a church, only to find, back at base, that the Japanese used it as a barracks.

P-38 Lightning Pilot
Next he arranged to visit the Army Air Corps' 475th Fighter Group, which flew Lockheed P-38 Lightnings.
On June 26, he approached the CO of the 475th, Col. Charles MacDonald. He identified himself and indicated that he wanted to familiarize himself with the P-38's combat operations. Engrossed in a game of checkers, MacDonald at first brushed him off. Only paying half attention to the tall stranger, MacDonald asked the world's most famous aviator, "Are you a pilot?" When Lindbergh repeated his name, MacDonald finally made the connection. He wanted to fly combat missions with the 475th. The commanders discussed it; Major Thomas McGuire, the country's second highest-scoring ace, allowed as he'd "like to see what the old guy could do." He commenced flying P-38's with the 475th.

After a few missions, the ground crew noticed that Lindbergh returned with more fuel than the other pilots. He explained to the skeptical youngsters that by setting the RPMs low and the manifold pressure high, the engine would consume less fuel. In the huge Pacific theater, extending the range of the P-38 would be a significant extension of American airpower. The 475th pilots worried that these settings would damage the engines. Lindbergh replied, "These are military engines, built to take punishment. So punish them." Soon, all the pilots adopted his approach. He flew 25 missions by early July, before he was summoned to General Douglas MacArthur's headquarters, to meet with MacArthur and General Richard Sutherland. On learning of his methods for improving the Lightning's fuel economy and range, they asked him to spread the word throughout the Fifth Air Force. Back with the 475th, on the island of Biak, Lindbergh witnessed the revolting sight of Japanese corpses - unburied and rotting; many had been atrociously looted by American soldiers.

On July 28, Lindbergh participated in the 433rd Fighter Squadron's strafing mission against Amboina, near Cebu in the Philippines. On the return, they encountered a Sonia, a two-seater armed reconaissance plane, not exactly a world-class fighter. Somehow the Sonia pilot had eluded P-38s from the 49th Fighter Group, when MacDonald, Capt. Danforth Miller, Lt. Joseph Miller, and Lindbergh found it. The Sonia zipped right at Lindbergh's Lightning. "The Lone Eagle" fired away with his powerful armament and pulled up at the last second. The Sonia dove straight down into the water.

Three days later, again flying with MacDonald, Lindbergh encountered another Japanese plane. A Zero got behind him and only MacDonald's swift rescue and the Zero pilot's poor aim saved him.

He and Thomas McGuire, became friends - they flew together, shared a tent, and explored the islands.

In September, Lindbergh again flew with the Marines, over Kwajalein in the Marshalls, where he successfully delivered a 4,000 pound bomb load with an F4U Corsair, the heaviest payload carried by that plane.

He returned to Europe in mid-1945, on a Naval Technical Mission, to study high-speed German aircraft. He saw first-hand the widespread devastation of German cities: Mannheim, Zell-am-See (the Luftwaffe headquarters), Berchtegaden, and Oberammergau, where he met Dr. Willy Messerschmitt. Among his stops was the Nordhausen V-2 factory near the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp. There an unbelievably aged seventeen-year old camp survivor showed Lindbergh the ovens and other horrific aspects of the camp. Lindbergh described this horror in his diaries, but equated the Holocaust to atrocities throughout history and to what he had seen in the caves at Biak. While Lindbergh was a patriot, and no anti-Semite, some flaw or weakness prevented him from ever fully owning up to his misjudgement of Hitler and the unprecedented genocide of the Holocaust.

Post War Years
After the war, the public generally forgot, or at least overlooked, the role that Lindbergh had played before the war. President Eisenhower restored him to the Air Force Reserves and promoted him to General. His book, The Spirit of St. Louis was awarded a Pulitizer Prize. In the Fifties, he and his family resided in Westport, Connecticut, but Charles' lifelong penchant for traveling continued, and he never really settled down.
In his later years, his concern for the negative effect of aviation and technology increased. He supported conservation causes, and wrote about his life, including his wartime diaries. He and Anne moved to the remote island of Maui, in Hawaii, where they built a comfortable retreat.

Charles Lindbergh passed away on August 26, 1974.

Sempers,

Roger