These situations were brought about by the wholehearted welcome to me—an American—that touched me beyond any point that any words can express. I left France with a debt of gratitude which, though I cannot repay it, I shall always remember. If the French people had been acclaiming their own gallant airmen, Nungesser and Coli, who were lost only after fearlessly departing in the face of conditions insurmountably greater than those that confronted me, their enthusiastic welcome and graciousness could not have been greater.
In Belgium as well, I was received with a warmth which reflected more than simply a passing curiosity in a transatlantic flight, but which was rather a demonstration by the people of their interest in a new means of transportation which eventually would bring still closer together the new world and the old. Their welcome, too, will be a cherished memory for all time.
In England, I experienced one final unforgettable demonstration of friendship for an American. That spontaneous wonderful reception during my brief visit seemed typical of what I had always heard of the good sportsmanship of the English.
My words to all those friends in Europe are inadequate, but my feelings of appreciation are boundless.
Conclusion
When I was contemplating the flight to Paris I looked forward to making a short tour of Europe with especial regard to the various airports and aeronautical activities.
After I arrived, however, the necessity for returning to America in the near future became apparent and, after a consultation with Ambassador Houghton, who informed me that President Coolidge was sending the cruiser Memphis to Cherbourg for my return journey to America, I flew the Spirit of St. Louis to Gosport early one morning. There it was dismantled and crated, through the courtesy of the Royal Air Force which also placed a Woodcock pursuit plane at my disposal.
I returned to London in the Woodcock and a few days later flew to Paris in another R.A.F. machine of the same type.
I remained overnight in Paris, and early the next morning flew a French Breguet to Cherbourg where the cruiser Memphis was waiting.
Admiral Burrage met me at the dock, and after going aboard the Memphis I became acquainted with Captain Lackey and the officers of the ship. During the trip across they extended every courtesy and did everything within their power to make the voyage a pleasant one.
A description of my welcome back to the United States would, in itself, be sufficient to fill a larger volume than this. I am not an author by profession, and my pen could never express the gratitude which I feel towards the American people.
The voyage up the Potomac and to the Monument Grounds in Washington; up the Hudson River and along Broadway; over the Mississippi and to St. Louis—to do justice to these occasions would require a far greater writer than myself.
Washington, New York, and finally St. Louis and home. Each of these cities has left me with an impression that I shall never forget, and a debt of gratitude which I can never repay.
Publisher’s Note
When Lindbergh came to tell the story of his welcome at Paris, London, Brussels, Washington, New York and St. Louis he found himself up against a tougher problem than flying the Atlantic.
He wanted to speak from his heart his appreciation for all the kindness and enthusiasm that had been shown him. But when he began to write he found that fitting words would not come. Somehow it wasn’t a story for him to tell.
So the publishers agreed to his suggestion that this part of the record be put in the third person by a writer he might choose. As a result much in the way of illuminating speeches and other important matter is included that Lindbergh would have been loath to use.
Author’s Note
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 transatlantic 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 “transatlantic 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.
