Lindbergh

At dawn the U. S. cruiser Memphis was steaming up the Potomac River. Soon people in Washington began to stir--in the temporary White House, President and Mrs. Coolidge, and Mrs. Evangeline Lodge Lindbergh were arising. As the sun grew brighter and hotter, the tempo of the capital approached allegro. One hundred Army and Navy airplanes darted above and below and around the dirigible Los Angeles, like sharks baiting a whale. The guns of the presidential yacht Mayflower boomed a salute. Factory whistles shrieked. Nautical tunes bounded over the waters of the Potomac. The Memphis docked at the Navy Yard. Mrs. Lindbergh went aboard to embrace the son who had quickened the tempo of the world's chronicle since she last saw him.

Then mother and son were driven up Pennsylvania Ave., as 150,000 people became hoarse. President Coolidge and another 150,000 were waiting in the vicinity of the Washington Monument. Radio Announcer Graham McNamee was telling the rest of the land: "Here comes the guard of honor ahead of Lindbergh's car. . . . The cavalrymen with drawn sabres make a dashing picture. . . . Here's the boy. . . . He comes forward unassuming, quiet, a little stoop in his shoulders. . . . Now I will turn the microphone to the reviewing stand, where President Coolidge and the boy Lindbergh stand quietly together."

President Coolidge, warming up more than usual, called the boy "our ambassador without portfolio"; pinned on his coat lapel the Distinguished Flying Cross; gave him his commission of Colonel in the Officers' Reserve Corps. The boy replied with seven short sentences, keeping his promise to Europe by delivering a message of friendship to the U. S.

That night, Col. Charles Augustus Lindbergh slept in the temporary White House at Dupont Circle.

Next .day, he went to church with his mother and President and Mrs. Coolidge, placed a wreath on the tomb of the Unknown Soldier at Arlington, visited disabled War veterans at the Walter Reed hospital, made plans for flying to New York early the following morning.

Because his Spirit of St. Louis had a sticky valve, Colonel Lindbergh hopped from Washington to Long Island in an Army pursuit plane, transferred (at Mitchel Field) to an amphibian plane, alighted on New York Harbor. Long before the hero touched foot on the island of Manhattan, the air was full of shrieks, confetti and shredded ticker tape. Twelve thousand police carried no clubs; but linked arms, used hands, charged on horseback to keep the crowds from absorbing the parade on narrow Broadway. At the City Hall, Mayor James J. Walker presented Colonel Lindbergh with the city Medal of Valor, said to him: "We are familiar with the editorial 'we,' but not until your arrival in Paris did we learn of the aeronautical 'we'." At Central Park the struggling grasses were browbeaten while 250,000 humans watched Governor Alfred Emanuel Smith pin upon Colonel Lindbergh the state Medal of Honor.

Such were the outstanding spectacles last week in the welcome of Colonel Lindbergh. To these were added many a sideshow:

Telegrams. Shrewd underlings of President Newcomb Carlton of the Western Union Telegraph Co. and President Clarence H. Mackay used the same set of messages. of the Postal Telegraph-Cable Co. fattened the purses of their employers by evolving a set of 20 stereotyped messages of congratulations to Colonel Lindbergh. Strangely enough, both companies Examples: No. 2: "Glad you're back, Captain. When you fly out this way drop in and see us." No. 6: "Back seats for George and Albert. We're prouder than kings. Welcome home." No. 11: "The flight was wonderful, the reception marvelous, but we are proudest of your modesty and eternal sense of the fitness of things. Welcome home."

These messages were advertised on handbills bearing the caption: "Your Choice for 36 Cents"--the price varying in different cities. Western Union and Postal Telegraph could well afford to give these reduced rates, because the messages were despatched in bulk during slack hours, using a simple formula of numbers and names of senders. It was possible that messages received a few days early could be mailed to Washington. Whatever the methods, 75,000 telegrams were delivered to Colonel Lindbergh in Washington.

Air Mail. Three U. S. mail trucks, displaying large signs which read: "The People of the United States by Air Mail Congratulate Lindy," carried 500,000 letters to Colonel Lindbergh when he disembarked from the Memphis at the Washington Navy Yard. How much mail he received via regular railroad services is unknown.

Clippings. Before hopping across the Atlantic, Colonel Lindbergh made a contract with a Manhattan clipping bureau to watch for any newspaper stories concerning his flight. Faithful, the bureau collected two freight cars full of clippings. Perhaps these are the white elephants of the sideshow.

Beer. On the streets of Washington rumbled a truck which bore the legend: "AnheuserBusch, Inc. Welcomes Captain Lindbergh with the Spirit of St. Louis."

Symbol. In an article on "What the Lindbergh Flight Means to Business," Forbes magazine printed the following: "Lindbergh is a symbol. Let all American businessmen paste his picture in their hats."

Arms. In heralding the meeting of Mrs. Lindbergh and son, the Cincinnati Enquirer used the following headline:

MA'S ARMS

Entwine Big Son

Comparison. The National Geographic Society compared Colonel Lindbergh to Robinson Crusoe, Sir Galahad, Dr. David Livingstone, Sir Henry Stanley and others.

Glory. Few Americans were able to surpass the tribute of heroic Burgomaster Max of Brussels, who said to Colonel Lindbergh: "In your glory there is glory for all men."