The Spirit of ST Louis (7 page)

IT'S FOURTEEN YEARS since I've been in New York. I was a child then, and I don't remember much about it. I stand in the great, columned entrance of the Pennsylvania Station and look up and down Seventh Avenue. I've checked my suitcase. I'm going to walk around the city before I look for a hotel. Tomorrow morning I'll make an appointment with the Wright Aeronautical Corporation. I wonder if I'll have to take a ferry across the Hudson, or if I can get a train direct to Paterson, New Jersey.

2

The Wright factory has all the appearances of a successful business organization. As I step in through the door I feel that my new hat, overcoat, and tailored suit are paying off. The girl at the desk glances at my card, and smiles. Yes, she's been told to expect me. So far, so good. I am exactly one minute ahead of my appointment.

"Won't you leave your hat and coat in the corner?" She motions toward a well-filled rack, and calls a number on her phone. "Captain Lindbergh is here," I hear her saying to someone on the wire.

"This way, please."

The girl leads me down a corridor to a room near the end. An executive rises from his desk in greeting.

"You've just come from St. Louis, Captain?"

"I arrived in New York yesterday," I tell him.

"I understand you're interested in the Wright-Bellanca," he says. "Sit down, won't you?"

"Yes, sir. I'd like to have all the information you can give me about the Bellanca. We're also interested in Whirlwind engines."

"I can get all the data you want on Whirlwind engines, but at the moment we can't quote a price on the Bellanca. We're negotiating to sell both the plane and manufacturing rights to the Huff-Daland Company. You see, the Wright Corporation never intended to manufacture aircraft. We built the Bellanca to show how a Whirlwind could perform in a modern plane -- it was really a demonstration of our engine. Of course if the deal doesn't go through, we may still be interested in selling the plane. But don't you think a three-engined ship would be better for a flight across the ocean?"

The multiengine problem again! I didn't expect it from the Wright people.

"Not necessarily," I say. "It seems to me there are a number of advantages to a plane with one engine. How often does a Whirlwind fail in flight?"

The executive laughs. "You've got me there. We think our engines are pretty good. We haven't got exact figures, but they seem to be averaging about nine thousand hours to a failure -- Still, we don't believe in taking chances, and you're better off with three than with one."

"How soon do you think you'll know whether the Bellanca is for sale?" I ask.

"You'd better talk to Giuseppe Bellanca about that. I've arranged for you to meet him. You may want to talk to the Huff-Daland people, too. But wouldn't you like to take a trip around our factory while you're here in Paterson?"

We walk through lines of lathes, under belts and spinning wheels. Metal shavings twist off hardened tool points and fall to the floor. Hand trucks, stacked with finned and contoured castings, pass us by. I see it all with my eyes, but my mind is on the Bellanca and my flight to Paris.

"How long can a Whirlwind engine stay in the air without any servicing?" I demand.

"I don't believe we know exactly," the executive replies. "The rocker-arm bearings would be the limiting factor. When they run dry, they get sluggish and stick. They'd keep going for a good many hours; but for a long flight, we probably ought to find some way of greasing them in the air… This is our foundry."

We continue on, past tempering ovens, down the engine overhaul line, out to the deafening test stands.

"We run our engines here till they break down," the executive explains, "to see what parts fail first."

3

"My plane is fully capable of flying nonstop from New York to Paris." Giuseppe Bellanca leans forward intently from a lounge in the Waldorf-Astoria. "I should like very much to have it make the flight."

Bellanca is a serious, slender man—straight black hair, sharpcut features, medium height. One feels, in his presence,/ genius, capability, confidence. Here there'll be no feinting for position, no cards held back. What he says, you can believe.

"It will only be necessary to put a big gasoline tank in the cabin," he tells me.

"Is the landing gear strong enough to take off with such a load of fuel?" I ask.

"Yes; I have built the landing gear especially strong. There should be no trouble about taking off," he says.

"How many hours do you think your plane could stay in the air without refueling, if the pilot kept it throttled down to minimum flying speed?" I ask.

"I believe it could stay up for more than fifty hours, Captain Lindbergh. That would break the world's endurance record."

"It might be a good idea to try to break the endurance record, as an engine test, before starting out on a nonstop flight over the ocean," I suggest.

"I think that would be wise," he replied. "The plane is fully capable of it."

"If we can't buy the Bellanca you're flying now, how soon could you build another one?"

"It would not take long if I have a factory, Captain Lindbergh. But now I have no factory. I cannot tell. If I must organize a factory, it takes much longer -- But I think there is a good chance that the sale of the plane we have built can be negotiated for such a purpose. I hope so. A successful flight to Paris would be of great value."

It's clear that in Giuseppe Bellanca I have a friend. He's as much interested in the New York-to-Paris flight as I am. And he knows the problems of financing an enterprise—he's going through these himself. He doesn't change his attitude at all when I tell him that our St. Louis organization isn't yet complete. We talk about cruising speeds, fuel requirements, takeoff distances. He has at his finger tips the answers to practically everything I want to know.

"Well, I think I have all the information I need," I say finally. "I must take the train west tonight. Thank you very much for all your help."

We get up, shake hands.

"I hope you have success with your organization, Captain Lindbergh," he tells me in parting. "I hope you are able to buy my plane."

Well, now I've made contact with the Wright Corporation, and with Bellanca. When I return to St. Louis, I'll have more than an idea to sell. I'll be able to tell about an airplane that's able to make the flight, and a designer who's anxious to have his plane bought for that purpose. Then, if I can raise enough money, I'll take the train back to New York and make a cash offer to whoever owns the Wright-Bellanca.

4

As soon as I reach Lambert Field, I send Bellanca a telegram:

WESTERN
UNION

GIUSEPPE BELLANCA ANGLUM MO.

PASSAIC NEW JERSEY

IMPORTANT TO KNOW SOON AS POSSIBLE WHETHER PLANE CAN BE PURCHASED FOR ST. LOUIS TO PARIS FLIGHT STOP WOULD GREATLY APPRECIATE YOUR KEEPING ME POSTED ON DEVELOPMENTS.

LINDBERGH

It's essential to keep my project alive. I must press action wherever I can, show people that I mean business when I talk about a flight across the ocean. This will leave the next

move up to Bellanca.

After lunch I drive in to the city to tell Mr. Thompson and Major Lambert about my eastern trip.

.

5

Days pass, while I call at Anglum's little railroad station, only to find that no answer from Bellanca has come in. Then, on the morning of December 4th, the station agent hands me

a message:

WESTERN
UNION

PASSAIC N.J. 1006AM 12-4-26

CHAS. A. LINDBERGH

ANGLUM MO.

SORRY LONG UNAVOIDABLE DELAY WILL BE GLAD TO HELP YOU IN ANY WAY TO OBTAIN PURCHASE OF WRIGHT BELLANCA AND PREPARE SAME FOR PARIS FLIGHT BUT IF UNABLE TO BUY WRIGHT BELLANCA I OFFER THREE MOTOR PLANE FOR TWENTY NINE THOUSAND DOLLARS WHICH IS EXCEPTIONALLY ADAPTED FOR PARIS FLIGHT

BELLANCA

Good Lord! I thought Bellanca was one man who wouldn't advocate multiengines. How am I going to raise $29,000 when I haven't been able to raise $10,000? And even if I had the money, how many months would it take to build a new, trimotored plane?

I'm still turning this problem over in my mind, unsuccessfully, when a telegram arrives from one of the officers of the Huff-Daland Company, indicating that negotiations for purchase of the Wright-Bellanca have been broken off. So I wire the Wright Corporation:

WESTERN
UNION

WRIGHT AERONAUTICAL CORP. ANGLUM MO.

PATERSON NEW JERSEY DEC. 9, 1926

ESSENTIAL TO KNOW SOON AS POSSIBLE WHETHER WRIGHT BELLANCA CAN BE PURCHASED FOR ST. LOUIS TO PARIS FLIGHT

LINDBERGH

6

Four days have passed since I telegraphed the Wright Corporation. This morning I sent another message. This reply arrives:

WESTERN
UNION

PASSAIC N.J. 349 PM 12-13-26

C. A. LINDBERGH

ANGLUM MO.

RETEL NINTH THIRTEENTH REGRET WE DO NOT DESIRE AT THIS TIME TO HAVE WRIGHT BELLANCA USED FOR TRANSATLANTIC FLIGHT SUGGEST FOKKER OR HUFF DALAND THREE ENGINE PLANES

PETERSON WRIGHT AERO

Well, that's definite enough. But since Bellanca has offered to build a three-motored plane, he must have found a factory. If he has a factory, he can build another single-motored plane both faster and cheaper. If I can raise enough money, I might still be able to get a Whirlwind-powered Bellanca before summer. It's money I've got to find now. After that comes the question of a plane. I'll wire Bellanca anyway, just to keep in contact and let him know my interest is still keen:

WESTERN
UNION

ANGLUM MO.

GIUSEPPI BELLANCA

PASSAIC NEW JERSEY

WRIGHT CORPORATION REFUSES SELL BELLANCA STOP WHEN COULD YOU DELIVER SIMILAR SINGLE ENGINE PLANE FOR PARIS FLIGHT AND WHAT WOULD PRICE BE

LINDBERGH

7

For days, nothing has flown on Lambert Field except our mail planes. Turbulent winds, and mud alternating with frozen ground, have brought student training to a standstill. Barnstorming petered out with November. I've had plenty of time to work on my Paris project, and I've gotten nowhere. Bellanca hasn't replied to my latest telegram. Aside from Mr. Thompson and Majors Robertson and Lambert, I've found no one willing to take part in financing a flight across the ocean. The men I've talked to who are interested don't have enough money. Those who have enough money consider the risk too great—if not for their bank accounts, then for their reputations. I've not been able to convince them that flying the ocean is no more dangerous than a winter on the mail. They want no share in the criticism they think would come from sending a young pilot to his death.

Possibly I could raise money by popular subscription. Maybe I could get a thousand people in St. Louis to contribute ten dollars each. I could offer to return their investment with a profit, from the Orteig prize, if I succeeded. But to raise small amounts from many people is tedious and uncertain. I'd have to publicize the project, set up an organization, keep records, write a lot of letters. And time is passing. It's not many weeks to spring. Maybe I could raise some money in Chicago. But I don't know any businessmen in Chicago. To whom could I got for a start?

I must have walked five miles this afternoon, over frozen roads, thinking of the Paris flight and hunting for new ideas on which to build a successful organization. I was walking like this yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. Walking has become a regular habit in my life.

The winter is almost half over. Each day makes my failure more complete. In France and in America, aircraft for the transoceanic flight are being built and tested, while I do nothing but lay plans and talk. If I'm not careful, I'll be in a class with those erratic and often-to-be-avoided people who have wonderful ideas and accomplish nothing with them. I must make a final effort or give up my dream. I'll ask Love and Nelson to take over the mail schedules completely for a few days. Then I'll lay my Paris project before every businessman in St. Louis I can get an appointment with.

8

"Slim, you ought not to be running around worrying about raising money. You've got to put all your attention on that flight if you're going to make it."

"I'm talking to Harry Knight in his brokerage office at Fourth and Olive Streets. I've come to ask his advice in regard to other businessmen I might approach with my project, and in the hope that he'll take some part himself. Harry Knight is president of the St. Louis Flying Club. I met him three or four times on the airfield last summer when he was taking flying lessons from Cloyd Clevenger. He's a stocky, abrupt young man in a brown suit, not much older than myself. He doesn't believe in wasting too much time by being tactful. I fully expected to be turned down at once, or put off with one of those evasive, business executives' statements about wanting to think the matter over. But:

"Let me talk to a friend of mine in the bank," he continues. "Maybe we can take care of the financial end for you. How much money is it going to take?"

His words strike like the flash of an airfield's beacon on a stormy night. Then I'm not lost—here's help, someone to share responsibility.

"If we can get the plane and engine manufacturers to stand part of the expense, I think $10,000 would be enough," I tell him. "If we can't get them to take part, it might cost as much as $15,000 to buy the plane and engine, and make the flight."

"You're talking about a single-engined plane. Wouldn't a trimotor be better for that kind of flight?" he asks.

I start in with my old arguments again:

"It would cost $29,000 to get a trimotored plane from Bellanca. The Fokker Company wants $90,000 for one of theirs. And I don't know how long it would take to build one. Multiengined planes are more complicated; there are more things likely to go wrong with them. Besides, the greatest danger lies in weather, and in take-off with a full load—not in engine failure—Whirlwind engines are averaging 9000 hours to a failure. As a matter of fact, I think I'd rather make the flight with one engine than with three, to say nothing of the difference in cost. A big ship is hard to handle in thick weather – – – "

Knight suddenly swings around in his chair, and picks up