Secret Flight

In order to make air-minded but temporarily air-sated readers even mildly interested in the twelfth transatlantic flight in the past month (Lufthansa's four-motored Focke-Wulf "Condor" Brandenburg, from Berlin to New York City and return), newspapers were obliged to run banner headlines about SECRECY. Even this ruse failed to excite thorough readers. Day before, they had seen an Associated Press dispatch announcing the exact hour of departure, predicting the time of arrival within three hours.

If AP's prognostication was much closer to the mark than its customer-newspapers' fabrication, nevertheless, the Lufthansa's remarkably precise shuttle, by far the most important of the Atlantic flights, caused so little stir in the U. S. that it might just as well have been secret. New York City's whitewings had just cleaned up 1,900 tons of paper thrown into the streets in honor of an Irishman who had managed to hit Ireland. The clocklike navigation of the Brandenburg's, crew, in contrast, was feebly cheered by only 2,000 people.

When the plane taxied to the O. J. Whitney hangar at Floyd Bennett Field, a ladder was carried to the cabin door, but no one emerged. The doorhandle wiggled, police tugged from outside, but the door stayed shut. Said a bystander: "Now they'll have to go back to Germany and get the key." Finally the door popped open. Brisk Captain Alfred Henke emerged, said: "We've been sitting down for more than 24 hours. Now we want to stand up and get rested."

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