The Reluctant Celebrity

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The Reluctant Celebrity
A personal journey of courage and endurance catapulted a shy young man into instant, unwanted stardom.

By Diane Tedeschi


	Lindbergh poses with The Spirit of St. Louis* during a tour to promote aviation.*

On May 21, 1927, Charles A. Lindbergh landed at Paris's Le Bourget airfield after a solo flight across the Atlantic Ocean. He had begun the daring journey 33 and a half hours earlier at New York's Roosevelt Field, and when his airplane, The Spirit of St. Louis, touched down at 10:22 p.m. Paris time, a euphoric crowd of thousands awaited him.

Yes, Lindbergh's flight had set a record (it was the first nonstop airplane trip from New York to Paris), but in the years following the Wright brothers' 1903 triumph at Kitty Hawk, aviation records were set by the score. None of the recordholders, however, had inspired the worship that Lindbergh did. The 25-year-old college dropout and former airmail pilot became a phenomenon, and though it is difficult to fully explain Lindbergh's great popularity, several factors seem to have been at work. Lindbergh, a man of boyish good looks and modest demeanor, was making his mark in a still new and frequently risky mode of transportation (two French fliers, Charles Nungesser and Francois Coli, had died two weeks earlier in their attempt to traverse the Atlantic). That Lindbergh was willing to face the danger of crossing the Atlantic alone only increased the public's adulation.

They wanted to see him, hear him speak, shake his hand, know what made him tick.

When he returned to the United States in June, Lindbergh was a national hero, and requests for his appearance poured in from around the country. The pilot and his wealthy friend Harry F. Guggenheim, president of the Daniel Guggenheim Fund for the Promotion of Aeronautics, found a way to honor those requests and at the same time publicize the safety and reliability of aviation. Lindbergh, flying The Spirit of St. Louis, would make a grand tour of the United States, stopping overnight in all 48 states. The Guggenheim Fund and the Department of Commerce would finance the tour, for which Lindbergh would receive $50,000. There would be no admission for any of the appearances and no commercial sponsorships. Lindbergh requested that one of his airmail buddies, Philipp R. Love, fly the escort airplane. It was Love's job to land 30 minutes ahead of Lindbergh to make sure excited crowds were off the runway. This would be an ongoing problem on the tour, as throngs of admirers frequently broke through barricades and ran toward TheSpirit of St. Louis and its whirling propeller. More than once, an angry Lindbergh had to take evasive action. The Department of Commerce assigned a mechanic to fly with Love, as well as tour assistant Donald E. Keyhoe. Traveling by train well ahead of Lindbergh and Love was a tour advance team, which made arrangements at each stop for Lindbergh's appearances at parades and banquets.

On July 20, Lindbergh took off from New York's Mitchel Field. The route called for him to fly up to New England, then turn west until he reached Seattle, then south to San Diego and finally back to the East Coast. The first stop was Hartford, Connecticut, and Lindbergh arrived on schedule at 2:00 p.m. Soon he was sitting in a car, parading through the town. In Flying With Lindbergh, a book published a year after the tour, Keyhoe described the reaction of the spectators: "Some who had been cheering enthusiastically as the car approached with Lindbergh, suddenly became silent and stared almost in awe. Others who had been more self-contained broke out into shouts of acclaim, subsiding abruptly as the car went on, as though surprised at themselves. . . . Boys at the almost sophisticated age abandoned their newly acquired dignity and ran after the car as hilariously as the younger ones. Each time the car slowed, hundreds tried to force their way close enough to touch the colonel." (Lindbergh was a colonel in the Air Corps Reserve and was often addressed by that rank.) During the press interview that followed, Keyhoe wrote that Lindbergh readily answered all questions on aviation when suddenly a female reporter asked: "Is it true, Colonel, that girls don't interest you at all?" "If you can show me what that has to do with aviation, I'll be glad to answer you," said Lindbergh.

"Then aviation is your only interest?" persisted the reporter. "That is the purpose of this tour, to promote aviation," replied Lindbergh. "Are you always so evasive?" countered the reporter. "I shall be glad to tell you anything I know, on aviation," said Lindbergh. The reporter finally gave up, but others continued to ask Lindbergh personal questions throughout the tour. He obstinately refused to answer them, complaining to his tour mates that "People are forgetting that this is not a personal tour. . . . They don't seem to understand that this is a business tour." While it was obvious to everyone else, Lindbergh never seemed to understand that he was the reason thousands of people were turning out at every stop. They wanted to see him, hear him speak, shake his hand, know what made him tick.