Charles Lindbergh & the First Solo Transatlantic Flight | The Greatest Moments in Flight Charles Lindbergh & the First Solo Transatlantic Flight | The Greatest Moments in Flight By Nola Taylor Redd, Space.com Contributor | July 20, 2012 01:27pm ET MORE The Spirit of St. Louis carried Charles Lindbergh from New York to Paris in 33 and a half hours, the first nonstop flight across the Atlantic Ocean. Credit: Library of Congress This is part of a series of articles on the Greatest Moments in Flight, the breakthrough events that paved the way for human spaceflight and its next steps: asteroid mining and bases on the moon and Mars. As the Spirit of St. Louis rolled down the dirt runway of Roosevelt Field in New York, many doubted it would successfully cross the Atlantic Ocean. Yet, when Charles Lindbergh landed safely in Paris less than 34 hours later, becoming the first pilot to solo a nonstop transatlantic flight, he changed public opinion on the value of air travel and laid the foundation for the future development of aviation.

Preparing for the voyage Born only a year before the Wright brothers made their first historic flight at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, Charles Lindbergh grew up in the grip of aviation fever. Though he attended college to study engineering, he was drawn to the skies. "The life of an aviator seemed to me ideal. It involved skill. It brought adventure. It made use of the latest developments of science. Mechanical engineers were fettered to factories and drafting boards while pilots have the freedom of wind with the expanse of sky. There were times in an aeroplane when it seemed I had escaped mortality to look down on earth like a God."— Charles Lindbergh, "We, Pilot & Plane," 1927 Lindbergh left college to become a barnstormer, performing daredevil stunts at fairs. In 1924, Lindbergh enlisted in the Army, training at the U.S. Army flying school, where he graduated first in his class. After graduation, he became a postal pilot, flying the mail from St. Louis to Chicago.

In 1919, Raymond Orteig, a hotel owner in New York City, offered a prize of $25,000 to the first pilot to fly nonstop from New York to Paris. By 1927, four men had died, three were seriously injured, and two others went missing in the attempt, but the prize still remained tantalizingly out of reach. Lindbergh convinced nine St. Louis businessmen to finance his attempt, using their funds to build a special plane that he helped to design. Named in honor of his sponsors, the plane was called the Spirit of St. Louis. The plane's single-engine design caused many to doubt its ability to cross the vast Atlantic. Previous attempts had all included multi-engine planes. Also, co-pilots had been a staple on the 3,500 mile journey, but Lindbergh intended to fly alone. Lindbergh omitted a parachute and a radio from his gear, opting to include more gasoline. The newspapers called him "the flying fool." Alone in the sky On May 20, 1927, at 7:52 a.m., the Spirit of St.

Louis accelerated down the runway off Long Island and lifted into the sky while a crowd of 500 watched. The plane barely cleared the telephone wires at the end of the strip. "The field was a little soft due to the rain during the night, and the heavily loaded plane gathered speed very slowly." Lindbergh flew over Cape Cod and Nova Scotia, reaching the ocean as the sun set. Fog thickened in the night sky, and sleet formed on his plane when he attempted to pass through the clouds. He struggled with drowsiness, fighting to stay awake as he sometimes flew only ten feet above the ocean. A tiny fishing boat provided the first sign that he had reached Europe, and within an hour he had reached land. He flew about 1,500 feet over Ireland and England, headed toward France as the weather cleared. Darkness fell again as he passed over the coast of his target country.

"I first saw the lights of Paris a little before 10 p.m., or 5 p.m., New York time, and a few minutes later I was circling the Eiffel Tower at an altitude of about four thousand feet." After traveling more than 3,600 miles in 33 and a half hours, Lindbergh landed safely in Paris. A crowd of 100,000 swarmed around the plane, hoisting the pilot on their shoulders and cheering his achievement. The papers redubbed him the "Lone Eagle" and "Lucky Lindy." After the flight On his return home, Lindbergh toured 92 cities in 49 states, extolling the virtues of aviation to adoring crowds. He received the Medal of Honor and the Distinguished Flying Cross from President Coolidge and continued to serve the United States as an aviation consultant. He flew to several countries in Latin America at the request of the U.S. government, where he met his future wife, Anne Morrow, daughter of the American ambassador to Mexico. Lindbergh taught his wife to fly, and the two flew together around the world, plotting routes for various airlines.

Lindbergh baby kidnapping Tragedy struck in 1932 when the couple's first child was kidnapped from their home. The crime made headlines around the world. The Lindberghs paid the $50,000 ransom but, sadly, the boy's body was found in nearby woods weeks later. A carpenter, Bruno Hauptmann, was arrested and charged with murder. He was found guilty and was executed in 1936. The couple soon left the country in search of greater privacy. They went on to have five other children. America First In 1941, Lindbergh joined the America First Committee, which opposed the U.S.'s entry into World War II. Some people accused him of having Nazi sympathies. After the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, however, Lindbergh became a technical adviser to the Army and Navy. He flew 50 combat missions and helped develop cruise control techniques that increased the capabilities of American fighter planes. After the war, Lindbergh withdrew from public attention. He was a consultant to the U.S. Air Force, became involved in the conservation movement, and wrote several books, including "The Spirit of St.

Louis," which won a Pulitzer Prize in 1954. Lindbergh died of cancer on Aug. 26, 1974, at his home in Hawaii. Related: No. 1362: Flying across the Atlantic FLYING ACROSS THE ATLANTIC Click here for audio of Episode 1362. Today, we fly the Atlantic. The University of Houston's College of Engineering presents this series about the machines that make our civilization run, and the people whose ingenuity created them. Dozens of people had flown the Atlantic Ocean by 1927. Then Lindbergh made his historic nonstop flight we forgot about all that went before him. The first flight was made in May 1919 from New York to Plymouth, England. It was done in a six-man, four-engine, Navy flying boat which stopped in the Azores and Lisbon on the way. That same month, Raymond Orteig of New York City offered a $25,000 prize for the first nonstop airplane flight from New York to Paris. Just one month later, Alcock and Brown flew a two-engine airplane nonstop from St. John's, Newfoundland to Clifden, Ireland.

In July 1919 a British dirigible flew from England to New Jersey and back. Then, in 1922, two Portuguese aviators, Cabral and Coutinho, flew a single-engine British seaplane from Lisbon to Rio de Janeiro. That's a longer flight than Lindbergh's but there's a catch. They didn't just stop over on the way; they actually changed airplanes on a small Atlantic island. More flights from New York to England followed in 1924. And in 1924 a Zeppelin dirigible flew from Friedrichshaven to Lakehurst, New Jersey. Finally, 1927 saw seven transatlantic heavier-than-air flights, of which Lindbergh's was the third. So what was so special about Lindbergh's flight? Well, it was the longest, nonstop, heavier-than-air, transatlantic flight and it was the first solo crossing. That's how he picked up the nickname, The Lone Eagle. And his flight finally fulfilled the difficult specific conditions of the Orteig prize which had, by then, been waiting more than eight years. If you've ever flown to Europe, you know how much longer it takes to get back.

Prevailing west winds oppose you on the return. No one managed a solo heavier-than-air flight from East-to-West until 1932. Then a pilot named James Mollison got from Ireland to New Brunswick. It was 1936 before Beryl Markham finally flew from England to the Canadian mainland. (She told about that in a beautifully written book, West by Night.) Hers was the last step that had to be taken before commercial transatlantic flights began in the late 1930's -- twenty years after the first transatlantic crossing and thirty-five years after the Wright brothers. Still, Lindbergh's flight is what that riveted public aware-ness; and it's worth mentioning his airplane. Lindbergh was a determined airmail pilot who finally found a like-minded designer at the tiny Ryan Airplane Company. Ryan specially built the Spirit of St. Louis for Lindbergh in just two months time. They called him Lucky Lindy. But his luck was the making of many people. It was finding the right engineer at the right time. It was the luck of having a great parade of risk-taking and courage before him.

But the word luck does not apply to the courageous focused intensity Lindbergh brought to the one flight we remember. I'm John Lienhard, at the University of Houston, where we're interested in the way inventive minds work. (Theme music) Angelucci, E., World Encyclopedia of Civil Aircraft: From Leonardo da Vinci to the Present. New York: Crown Publishers, 1982. Markham, B., West with the Night. San Francisco: North Point Press, 1983 (1st ed., 1942.) This is a substantially revised version of Episode 37 . Lindbergh Flies the Atlantic, 1927 Purchase this Print 7:52 A.M., May 20, 1927 At 7:52 A.M., May 20, 1927 Charles Lindbergh gunned the engine of the " Spirit of St Louis " and aimed her down the dirt runway of Roosevelt Field, Long Island . Heavily laden with fuel, the plane bounced down the muddy field, gradually became airborne and barely cleared the telephone wires at the field's edge. The crowd of 500 thought they had witnessed a miracle.

Thirty-three and one half-hours and 3,500 miles later he landed in Paris, the first to fly the Atlantic alone. Working as a mail pilot a year earlier he heard of the $25,000 prize for the first flight between New York and Paris. Backed by a group of St. Louis businessmen, Lindbergh supervised the building of his special plane and set out after the prize. Other teams were attempting the feat - some had met disaster. Lindbergh equipped himself with four sandwiches, two canteens of water and 451 gallons of gas. Midway through the flight "sleet began to cling to the plane. That worried me a great deal and I debated whether I should keep on or go back. I decided I must not think any more about going back." On the evening of May 21, he crossed the coast of France, followed the Seine River to Paris and touched down at Le Bourget Field at 10:22P.M. The waiting crowd of 100,000 rushed the plane.

"I saw there was danger of killing people with my propeller and I quickly came to a stop." He became an instant hero, "the Lone Eagle." New York City gave him the largest ticker tape parade ever, the president awarded him the Distinguished Flying Cross. His feat electrified the nation and inspired enthusiastic interest in aviation. Takeoff Minnesota Historical Society Photo Bad weather and the prospect that his transatlantic flight would be delayed for a number of days greeted Lindbergh upon his arrival in New York. However, on May 19th, a favorable weather report predicted a break in the rain prompting Lindbergh to make his attempt the next day. He arrived at the airfield before dawn the next morning, prepared his plane for flight and began his historic journey: "About 7:40 A.M. the motor was started and at 7:52 I took off on the flight for Paris. The field was a little soft due to the rain during the night and the heavily loaded plane gathered speed very slowly. After passing the halfway mark, however, it was apparent that I would be able to clear the obstructions at the end.

I passed over a tractor by about fifteen feet and a telephone line by about twenty, with a fair reserve of flying speed. I believe that the ship would have taken off from a hard field with at least five hundred pounds more weight. I turned slightly to the right to avoid some high trees on a hill directly ahead, but by the time I had gone a few hundred yards I had sufficient altitude to clear all obstructions and throttled the engine down to 1750 R.P.M. I took up a compass course at once and soon reached Long Island Sound where the Curtiss Oriole with its photographer, which had been escorting me, turned back." Darkness Lindbergh continued his flight over Cape Cod and Nova Scotia and headed for the open Atlantic as darkness fell: "Darkness set in about 8:15 and a thin, low fog formed over the sea through which the white bergs showed up with surprising clearness. This fog became thicker and increased in height until within two hours I was just skimming the top of storm clouds at about ten thousand feet. Even at this altitude there was a thick haze through which only the stars directly overhead could be seen. There was no moon and it was very dark.

The tops of some of the storm clouds were several thousand feet above me and at one time, when I attempted to fly through one of the larger clouds, sleet started to collect on the plane and I was forced to turn around and get back into clear air immediately and then fly around any clouds which I could not get over." Ireland Minnesota Historical Society Photo Lindbergh continued his course, at times skimming only 10 feet above the waves as he tried to find a way around the fog and maintain his course. The appearance of fishing boats below alerted him that he was nearing land: "The first indication of my approach to the European Coast was a small fishing boat which I first noticed a few miles ahead and slightly to the south of my course. There were several of these fishing boats grouped within a few miles of each other. I flew over the first boat without seeing any signs of life. As I circled over the second, however, a man's face appeared, looking out of the cabin window. I have carried on short conversations with people on the ground by flying low with throttled engine, and shouting a question, and receiving the answer by some signal. When I saw this fisherman I decided to try to get him to point towards land.

I had no sooner made the decision than the futility of the effort became apparent. In all likelihood he could not speak English, and even if he could he would undoubtedly be far too astounded to answer. However, I circled again and closing the throttle as the plane passed within a few feet of the boat I shouted, "Which way is Ireland?" Of course the attempt was useless, and I continued on my course. Less than an hour later a rugged and semi-mountainous coastline appeared to the northeast. I was flying less than two hundred feet from the water when I sighted it. The shore was fairly distinct and not over ten or fifteen miles away. A light haze coupled with numerous storm areas had prevented my seeing it from a long distance. The coastline came down from the north and curved towards the east. I had very little doubt that it was the southwestern end of Ireland, but in order to make sure I changed my course towards the nearest point of land. I located Cape Valencia and Dingle Bay, then resumed my compass course towards Paris." Landing Minnesota Historical Society Photo Lindbergh flew over Ireland and then England at an altitude of about 1500 feet as he headed towards France. The weather cleared and flying conditions became almost perfect.

The coast of France and the City of Cherbourg passed beneath his wings as darkness fell a second time during his flight. "The sun went down shortly after passing Cherbourg and soon the beacons along the Paris-London airway became visible. I first saw the lights of Paris a little before 10 P.M., or 5 P.M., New York time, and a few minutes later I was circling the Eiffel Tower at an attitude of about four thousand feet. The lights of Le Bourget were plainly visible, but appeared to be very close to Paris. I had understood that the field was farther from the city, so continued out to the northeast into the country for four or five miles to make sure that there was not another field farther out which might be Le Bourget. Then I returned and spiralled (sic) down closer to the lights. Presently I could make out long lines of hangars, and the roads appeared to be jammed with cars. I flew low over the field once, then circled around into the wind and landed." But suddenly, a hysterical, ecstatic crowd broke through the restraining ropes and stampeded toward him, cheering and shouting.

As he opened the door, he was lifted down and hoisted onto the shoulders of the police, who carried him through the surging crowd, cries of "Vive" ringing through the night. He had conquered the Atlantic alone, covering 3,610 miles in 33 1/2 hours. He had won the Orteig prize! From the balcony of the American Embassy the following morning, he responded briefly and modestly to the persistent calls of the great crowd which had gathered. For hours after he retreated back inside, they shouted, clapped, and waved their hats and handkerchiefs. In the days that followed, his fame as a hero grew to unbelievable proportions as he took Europe by storm. The President of France pinned the Legion of Honor upon the lapel of his borrowed suit and thousands of messages poured in upon him. It was as if everyone saw in him something that they sought in themselves - a spirit of adventure and achievement in life. Somehow he represented the symbol of hope in a weary world, for there was something unique about his integrity, courage, and indifference to honors. "He had started with no purpose but to arrive. He remained with no desire but to serve.

He sought nothing, he was offered all." Returning Home Minnesota Historical Society Photo When he came home to America aboard the USS Memphis, a majestic convoy of warships and aircraft escorted him up the Chesapeake and Potomac to Washington. President Coolidge welcomed him home and bestowed the Distinguished Flying Cross upon him. His New York reception was the wildest in the city's history as 4 million people lined the parade route and Mayor Jimmy Walker pinned New York's Medal of Valor upon him. Finally, when it was all over, he turned and flew to St. Louis for a rest and to contemplate. His epic flight would become the one singular event which electrified the world and changed the whole course of history. It was now that the Daniel Guggenheim Fund sponsored him on a three month nation-wide tour. Flying the "Spirit of St. Louis," he touched down in 49 states, visited 92 cities, gave 147 speeches, and rode 1,290 miles in parades. Tired, but satisfied with the job he had done in promoting aviation, he returned to New York. He made a good will tour at the request of Ambassador Dwight Morrow.

It was here that he first met Anne Morrow , daughter of the Ambassador, a meeting that would blossom into romance. After Mexico, he visited twelve other Central American and West Indies countries, conveying goodwill all along the 9,000 mile flight tour. On March 21,1929, President Coolidge presented him with the nation's highest honor, the Congressional Medal of Honor. Throughout the rest of his life he would continue to serve America as an advisor on aviation. He resigned his commission as a Colonel in the reserves an April 29, 1941, but he served in the Pacific theater during World War II as a technical advisor. He taught American fighter pilots how to get increased range from their planes - as much as fifty percent more. He flew several combat missions in P-38 fighters and on at least one sortie shot down a Japanese plane. After the war, he continued to serve his country in many ways and on April 7, 1954, he was appointed a Brigadier General in the Air Force Reserves. "Lindbergh Flies the Atlantic, 1927," EyeWitness to History, (1999).

Certification of Charles Lindbergh's flight required several documents to prove the performance Orteig Prize check made out to Charles Lindbergh The Fédération Aéronautique Internationale (FAI) - the World Air Sports Federation - is the sole organisation authorized to certify aeronautical and astronautical world records worlwide. The certification of Charles Lindbergh's flight required several documents to prove the performance. A sealed barograph, an instrument working with atmospheric pressure, was loaded on the aircraft; its six-hour cylinder recorded the altitudes flown and proved that the flight was uninterrupted. The start of the flight was attested by the US National Aeronautic Association and the Procès-verbal established by the Aéro-Club de France on Lindbergh's arrival attested that the barograph was found sealed and reported that 322 litres of gas (85 gallons) remained in the sealed tanks. This Procès-verbal was signed by no less than 13 French officials, the US Ambassador Myron Herrick, the Belgian Air Attaché Willy Coppens and, of course Charles Lindbergh himself.

Finally, the FAI General Secretary Paul Tissandier informed the National Aeronautic Association on August 31st, 1927, that Lindbergh's flight was certified as the Class-C World Record for non-stop flight over a distance of 5809 kilometres". Pictures of the barograph, six-hour cylinder recorded, and certified world record documents Click to Enlarge Source of information: The Fédération Aéronautique Internationale (FAI) Lighting a bonfire I was astonished at the effect my successful landing in France had on the nations of the world. To me, it was like a match lighting a bonfire. – Charles A. Lindbergh Privacy Policy | Terms and Conditions | This site is not affiliated with the Lindbergh family, Lindbergh Foundation, or any other organization or group. This site owned and operated by the Spirit of St. Louis 2 Project. ® Copyright 2014 CharlesLindbergh.com�, All rights reserved. The Spirit of St. Louis - YouTube The Spirit of St. Louis Want to watch this again later? Sign in to add this video to a playlist. Need to report the video? Sign in to report inappropriate content.

Rating is available when the video has been rented. This feature is not available right now. Please try again later. Uploaded on Oct 1, 2010 Replica of plane made famous by Charles Lindbergh who flew the Spirit of St. Louis for the first solo non-stop crossing of the Atlantic from US to Paris in 1927. Category The First Solo, Nonstop Transatlantic Flight | Pioneers of Flight Home / Pioneering Moments / The First Solo, Nonstop Transatlantic Flight The First Solo, Nonstop Transatlantic Flight On May 21, 1927, Charles A. Lindbergh completed the first solo, nonstop transatlantic flight in history, flying his Spirit of St. Louis from Long Island, New York, to Paris, France. In 1919 New York hotel owner Raymond Orteig offered a $25,000 prize for the completion of the first nonstop flight between New York and Paris. Early in 1927, Charles Lindbergh obtained the backing of nine St. Louis investors to compete for the prize. Lindbergh contacted Ryan Airlines in San Diego to build an airplane for the flight.

To honor his supporters, he named it the Spirit of St. Louis. When he successfully reached Paris, Lindbergh became a world hero who would remain in the public eye for decades. His flight touched off the “Lindbergh boom” in aviation—aircraft industry stocks rose in value, and interest in flying skyrocketed. Nearly a thousand people assembled at Roosevelt Field to see Lindbergh off on his historic flight. Charles Lindbergh lifts off on a test flight before his transatlantic attempt. Charles Lindbergh set a record flying from San Diego to New York City, with a stop in St. Louis, in 21 hours and 40 minutes. The Spirit of St. Louis returned to the U.S. from France aboard the USS Memphis and was exhibited on a barge to protect it from souvenir hunters. Charles Lindbergh flew a Great Circle route along the curvature of the earth rather than flying directly east over the Atlantic Ocean. Charles Lindbergh filled out this official entry form to compete for the $25,000 prize for being the first to fly nonstop across the Atlantic Ocean. Charles Lindbergh was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for completing the first solo, nonstop transatlantic flight.

A photocopy of the Orteig Prize check awarded to Lindbergh. The original is preserved in the National Air and Space Museum collections. This barograph provided a accurate record of the airplane's altitude and flight duration, as required for competitive flights. Connections First Solo Non-Stop Atlantic Flight | English Club This Week in History: Week 21 (21 May 1927) First Solo Non-Stop Atlantic Flight Charles Lindbergh becomes the first person to fly solo non-stop across the Atlantic Ocean. In 1927, Charles A. Lindbergh became the first person to fly solo non-stop across the Atlantic Ocean. He flew a plane named The Spirit of St Louis from New York to Paris. The flight took thirty-three and a half hours and covered a distance of 3,600 miles. A huge crowd of over 100,000 people welcomed Lindbergh on his arrival in France. Soon after completing the flight, he returned to the USA and became a national hero in his home country.

solo (adverb): alone; unaccompanied; without another person flight (noun): a journey or trip by air; an act of flying non-stop (adverb): without stopping or pausing cover (verb): travel (a specified distance) hero (noun): someone who is admired for their courage or outstanding achievements Issued in 1927 as a tribute to Charles Lindbergh, this USA postage stamp depicts Lindbergh's plane Spirit of St Louis and (dotted line) the "Great Circle Route" that he flew from New York to Paris. Test your understanding: Spirit | Aircraft | Aircraft Links Spirit - $4.95 The Spirit of St. Louis (Registration: N-X-211) is the custom-built single engine, single seat monoplane that was flown solo by Charles Lindbergh on May 20–21, 1927, on the first non-stop flight from New York to Paris for which Lindbergh won the $25,000 Orteig Prize.

Lindbergh and his Spirit of St Louis Lindbergh and the Spirit of St Louis The most celebrated aeroplane designed by Ryan, the single engine NYP (better known as the Spirit of St Louis) was the plane in which Charles Lindbergh achieved the first solo nonstop crossing of the Atlantic when he flew from New York to Paris in 1927. Unlike some famous aviators, Lindbergh's feats did not end with just this one flight later he went on to fly from the US to Tokyo over the Arctic with his wife Anne Marrow Lindbergh in a Lockheed Sirius . Ryan - Spirit of St. Louis The "Spirit of St. Louis" was designed by Donald Hall under the direct supervision of Charles Lindbergh. It is a highly modified version of a conventional Ryan M-2 strut-braced monoplane, powered by a reliable Wright J-5C engine. Because the fuel tanks were located ahead of the cockpit for safety in case of an accident, Lindbergh could not see directly ahead, except by using a periscope on the left side or by turning the airplane and looking out a side window.

The two tubes beneath the fuselage are flare dispensers that were installed for Lindbergh's flights to Latin America and the Caribbean. The Ryan Aircraft Corporation's Spirit of St. Louis is perhaps one of the most famous aircraft ever built. With Charles Lindbergh as pilot, it became the first aircraft to successfully fly across the Atlantic Ocean in May 1927. Its marathon 33-hour, nonstop, non refueled flight departed Roosevelt Field on Long Island, New York and when the plane landed at LeBourget Airport in Paris, France, Lindbergh became an international hero overnight. The Spirit of St. Louis was enshrined in the Smithsonian Institution's National Air & Space Museum, alongside the Wright Brothers' aircraft. "Spirit of St. Louis" was named in honor of Lindbergh's supporters in St. Louis, Missouri, who paid for the aircraft. "NYP" is an acronym for "New York-Paris." Dividing the Old World from the New, the Atlantic Ocean has always been a barrier to trade between Europe and the Americas, and the commercial importance of an aerial link was realized long before it became a practical possibility.

A flurry of activity in 1919 proved that the Atlantic could be conquered, but many years were to pass before it was tamed; the pioneer flights of Read (first crossing), Alcock and Brown (first non-stop crossing) and Scott (first crossings by airship) were a far cry from commercial operations which could offer the required degree of reliability with an economic payload. During the 'twenties and 'thirties, many ingenious solutions were advanced to the problem of crossing 2,000 miles of water, frequently in adverse wind and weather and with inadequate navigational aids. The route across the South Atlantic was a little easier than that farther north. From Dakar, in Senegal, to Natal, in Brazil, the distance was just under 1,900 miles , the weather was usually good and, in an emergency, the island of Fernando de Noronha, 300 miles off the Brazilian coast, could be used for refueling. The enterprise of French and German pioneers led to the establishment of air routes across the South Atlantic within a decade of the first Atlantic crossings-but not before the North Atlantic had witnessed another epic flight which, in public acclaim, outdid even the achievement of Alcock and Brown.

Spirit-of-St Louis-First Crossing: The first Atlantic crossings had, not unnaturally, been concerned with little more than getting an aeroplane and its crew across the shortest distance of water separating Europe and America. It was not long, however, before attention was turned to linking centers of population further inland, and as early as 1920 a prize of $25,000 had been offered for the first non-stop flight between Paris and New York (in either direction). The first attempt to cross the Atlantic from east to west, against the prevailing westerly winds, was made in 1924, when three Douglas Cruisers left Brough, in Yorkshire, and two succeeded in reaching Labrador in stages, with lengthy intervening stops. Further attempts in each direction during 1927 took the lives of the Americans Davis and Wooster, the Frenchmen Nungesser and Coli, and two crew members of the Frenchman Fonck. Then, with little prior publicity, the young American Charles Lindbergh arrived in Paris on May 21, 1927, at the end of a 332-hour, 3,610-mile flight from New York.

His was the first non-stop solo flight, and the longest trans Atlantic fight to that date, qualifying for the 525,000 prize and resulting in a display of public adulation which today is more usually reserved for pop-stars. Lindbergh, 25 years of age and a pilot by profession, had a natural flair for flying and above-average ability as a navigator. He needed both in good measure through the long watches of the moonless night over the Atlantic, as he battled through icing levels, unknown winds and poor visibility. His flight not only demonstrated great personal skill and courage, but also vindicated his faith in the single 237 hp Wright Whirlwind engine which powered the specially-built Ryan NYP (New York-Paris) monoplane Spirit of St Louis. Apart from the engine and rudimentary cockpit, from which the only forward view could be obtained through a periscope, the NYP was little more than a flying fuel tank, containing 450 US gallons in the fuselage and wings.

Like most other Atlantic fliers of the period, Lindbergh made his take-off with the aeroplane loaded to a weight far above normal; the ability of the aeroplane to leave the ground at this weight in the length of runway available was unknown until the start of the flight. After a hazardous but successful take-off, Lindbergh flew north from Long Island to cross Newfoundland before setting course eastwards. His landfall, 28 hours after take-off, was only three miles off course over the Irish coast, and the remainder of the flight, across the tip of Cornwall and on to Cherbourg and Paris, was uneventful. Less than a lifetime ago it was widely believed that non-stop transatlantic flight was impossible. In 1921, Charles Lindbergh's historic flight in his Spirit of St. Louis changed the mind set of the world. His courage, careful planning and devotion to his mission ultimately led him to success. Lindbergh passed away in 1974, but the impact of his flight will be long remembered as one of the greatest achievements of mankind. The Spirit of St.

Louis now hangs in the "Milestones of Flight" hall in the Smithsonian Institution's National Air and Space Museum, where it has been on exhibit since 1976. The Spirit was based on a successful mail-carrying monoplane that the company had in production at the time called the Ryan M-1. Lindbergh worked with Ryan's design engineer Donald Hall to redesign the M-1 to make it capable of the long flight. 850 hours were spent reengineering the M-1. The original Spirit was built in just 60 days with the staff of the Ryan Airlines company working around the clock for a total of 3000 man-hours. The company saved a considerable amount of time by utilizing many components from the M- 1 including the tail surfaces, wing ribs and many other parts and sub-assemblies. Three fuel tanks were installed in the wings and because of the extra weight of fuel required to complete the flight, the wingspan was extended to 46' from 36' for additional lift. The Spirit weighed 2150lbs. empty.

Fully loaded with 450 gallons of gasoline, 25 gallons of oil, minimal supplies and Lindbergh himself, the gross weight totaled 5250 lbs. The gasoline itself weighed 2150lbs., 600 lbs more than the aircraft itself! After completing the 3,600-mile flight, Lindbergh had 85 gallons of gas remaining in his tanks. The M-1 fuselage design was lengthened and its shape was modified to provide Lindbergh with an enclosed cabin as opposed to an open cockpit. Lindbergh did not want to sit between the engine and the tanks, so two additional tanks were placed in front of him between the engine and the cabin. The tanks blocked Lindbergh's forward view, so his instrument panel (located just behind the main tank) was equipped with a small periscope. The periscope projected out of the left side of the fuselage and provided him with slightly improved visibility. He used the device when flying near the coast to avoid hitting tall masts of sailing vessels. Other times he would peer out of the cockpit window cutouts in the side of the fuselage to see the outside world.

These cutouts had removable windows that could easily be installed to keep the cold wind out of the cabin. The late Frank Tallman (famed motion-picture stunt pilot and early aircraft collector) built a copy of the Spirit of St. Louis for the 1957 movie of the same name starring Jimmy Stewart. Tallman later recorded many of his flying experiences in his popular book, Flying the Old Planes. In reference to flying the Spirit without being able to see forward he wrote, "strangely enough, the lack of adequate forward visibility doesn't bother me too much." It is not readily apparent unless you are in the pilot's seat, but most vintage biplanes have very poor forward visibility, especially while on the ground with the tail down while taxiing, taking-off or landing. In comparison with a biplane the Spirit actually has better downward and outward visibility as there are no lower wings to block the pilot's view. Lindbergh amassed a total of just under 490 hours on the airplane, completing 174 flights before donating it to the National Air Museum in Washington, DC in April of 1928.

He carried only a handful of passengers aloft in the Spirit including his mother, Donald Hall, Edsel Ford and Henry Ford. The Spirit landed in each of the 48 states (at the time there were only 48 states), stopped at the islands of the West Indies, and flew all through Central and South America. Lindbergh flew in and out of airfields of all shapes and sizes, attesting to the design of the aircraft. It is said by some to have been a "dog" to fly, but Lindbergh flew an additional 400+ hours after his Atlantic crossing without making any modifications to alter its performance. Charles Lindbergh - far from being the first Charles Lindbergh Far from being the first! © Zak Keith, 2010 Who was the first man to fly solo across the Atlantic? Who was the first man to fly in a single-pilot aircraft across the Atlantic? Who was the first man to fly a fixed-wing aircraft across the Atlantic? Who was the first man to fly non-stop across the Atlantic? Who was the first man to fly in a heavier-than-air machine across the Atlantic? Charles Lindbergh was not the first person to fly across the Atlantic — not even close!

If you answered “Charles Lindbergh” to any of the above questions, then you, along with millions of people around the world, have been misinformed. It’s not your fault, for this is what our school books still errantly teach us today. In this “Information Age,” thousands of know-it-all answer sites, such as answers.com , perpetuate (as of May 2010) the Lindbergh myth, parroting the usual misinformation sans scrutiny, citing Charles A. Lindbergh as “born 4 February 1902 in Detroit, Michigan,” and “the first person to fly solo across the Atlantic.” The fact is, Lindbergh wasn’t the first, nor the second, nor the third, nor anywhere close to the top ten. Some 80 people had made the trip before Lindbergh came along. Neither was Lindbergh the first to fly non-stop across the Atlantic, nor the first to use a fixed-wing aircraft (as opposed to a floating airship) for the purpose.

Many spectacular firsts in the world of aviation—including many transatlantic flights—happened way before Lindbergh even came into the picture in 1927: Numerous textbooks continue to hail Charles Lindbergh an American Hero, errantly citing him as the first person to fly across the Atlantic! The very first transatlantic flight took place in 1919 (Lindbergh had absolutely nothing to do with it), when Lieutenant Commander Albert C. Read flew the Lame Duck, a Navy Curtiss NC-4 single-pilot flying boat for this purpose. After several engine breakdowns and floating at sea, he made it from New York, USA, to Lisbon, Portugal. The very first nonstop transatlantic flight (1,890 miles) in a fixed-wing aircraft, was accomplished only 3 weeks later, in 1919, by Cpt. John Alcock and Lt. Arthur Brown, who flew from Newfoundland to England in a Vickers Night Bomber. (Lindbergh still had absolutely nothing to do with it.)[ 5-6 ] In 1924, Lt. Lowell H. Smith and Lt. Erik H.

Nelson took off on a journey of 26,100 miles on a round-the-world trip beginning and ending in Seattle, Washington. In 1926, Ramon Franco flew across the South Atlantic in a twin-engine flying boat from Spain to Buenos Aires, Argentina. He was hailed as the “Columbus of the Air” in Latin America but received little notice in North America. From 1919 to 1927, an additional 78 people successfully flew across the Atlantic before Lindbergh’s attempt—a total of 81 people successfully flew across the Atlantic before Lindbergh. Finally, on June 27, 1927—8 years after the first transatlantic flights, and after 81 other people had already flown across the Atlantic, some of them solo—Lindbergh made his famed Atlantic crossing. Flying the Spirit of St. Louis for 3,600 miles in 33 hours, he went from Long Island, New York, to Le Bourget, close to Paris, France.

A closer look at the man, myth and legend So what did Charles Lindbergh really accomplish then, that could be considered a “first?” “Our civilization depends on a Western wall of race and arms which can hold back... the infiltration of inferior blood.” — Charles Lindbergh Besides being an Aryanist[ 1 ], Nazi sympathizer[ 2 ] and bigamist[ 3 ], Lindbergh was the first person to fly between New York and Paris without a support team and/or companion aircraft (which still does not mean he was the first to fly as a solo pilot or the first to fly across the Atlantic). Lindbergh was the winner of the highly-publicized $25,000 Orteig Prize offered by the French-born New York hotelier Raymond Orteig (Lafayette Hotel), who designated the prize for the first person to fly nonstop in either direction, between the cities of New York and Paris (although many a successful transatlantic flight had already been made by others by this time).

“Their greatest danger to this country lies in [Jewish] large ownership and influence in our motion pictures, our press, our radio and our government.” —Charles Lindbergh Lindbergh was the first to have the progress of his transatlantic flight covered live by public-access radio. Scores of listeners in France had been glued to their radio sets following developments of his trip, and had rushed out to meet him when he landed. Due to the unexpected effect of this mass-media coverage and spontaneous public interest, Lindbergh entered popular culture, a.k.a. the collective consciousness of mankind, to be known — incorrectly — as the “first man to cross the Atlantic in a plane.” Through the years, this myth came to be accepted as a “fact” that was taught in history books across the world, which is a pure testament to the power of mass media to misinform and create myths. “Racial strength is vital.” —Charles Lindbergh It would be more accurate to hail Lindbergh as the World’s First Mass-media Hero — he was well aware of its power and manipulated it thoroughly to his advantage.

At first a shy man in public, Lindbergh learned quickly to adapt, to play up to the public and perpetuate the egregious falsehood of his achievements. He never corrected the exaggeration about his being the “first,” but chose instead to capitalize on his fame, and to ride on the generated publicity and utilize it to his full advantage. Lindbergh relentlessly used his misdirected fame to help promote the rapid development of US commercial aviation, as well as propagate racial supremacist ideology. “In promoting appeasement and military unpreparedness, Lindbergh damaged his country to a greater degree than any other private citizen in modern times. That he meant well makes no difference.” —William O’Neill, Historian By 1936, the formerly shy Lindbergh had become a seasoned celebrity, public speaker and political meddler. He visited Germany as an unofficial ambassador of the US, attending the Summer Olympic Games as a guest of Field Marshal Hermann Göring . In 1938, Göring, on behalf of the Fuehrer, presented Lindbergh the Service Cross of the German Eagle for his contributions to aviation, which Lindbergh wore proudly for many years, despite protests from an appalled American public.

Taken in by all things German, including Nazism, Lindbergh made plans to relocate to Germany and began using his international fame as a platform to preach American isolationism, the futility of resisting Axis aggression and the ineluctable German conquest of Europe. Lindbergh often echoed word for word, the speeches and writings of Hitler and other European fascists. He took it upon himself to deliver a nationwide radio address, in which he criticized President Roosevelt and urged America to remain neutral: “These wars in Europe are not wars in which our civilization is defending itself against some Asiatic intruder...

This is not a question of banding together to defend the white race against foreign invasion.” In his second radio address in October 1939, Lindbergh stated clearly his belief in the importance of racial supremacy over the “luxury” of democracy: “Our bond with Europe is a bond of race, and not of political ideology.” While Lindbergh did not have anything against the Germans taking over Europe, he was against the “Asiatic intruder” and the “danger to western civilization” from the invasion of lesser breeds, and the “pressing sea of Yellow, Black and Brown” who were “incapable of technological progress.” He considered the Soviet Union‘s “semi-Asiatic hordes,” to be the best organized and best armed, and the greatest danger to white civilization, and Nazi Germany as the answer to this threat. In a self-published article in the Reader’s Digest, Lindbergh stated his concerns for the future of the white race: “Our civilization depends on a Western wall of race and arms [to] hold back...

the infiltration of inferior blood.” Overconfident in his popularity and the support for his views, Lindbergh began speaking openly against Jews, only to be denounced as an anti-Semite, his own in-laws turning against him. But despite his his tarnished reputation, by 1941, the once-shy Lindbergh had become so adept at using his influence and manipulating the mass media, that he was able to bounce himself right back into the game. When the US entered the war on two fronts against the Germans and Japanese, Lindbergh, ever the avid aviator, was eager to fly combat missions against the Japanese (but not the Germans). However, the slighted President Roosevelt would not allow him to rejoin the military, declaring that, “You can’t have an officer leading men who thinks we’re licked before we start.” Lindbergh proceeded to use his influence to land a job at United Aircraft, run by Henry Ford, who was also known for anti-Semitic views. Supposedly an observer and civilian consultant to develop aircraft engines, Lindbergh, in actuality, flew more than 50 combat missions in the Pacific Theater .

By 1945, when it was clear that both Germany and Japan were losing the war, Lindbergh began to backpedal on his earlier statements, but never going as far as to admit that he had been wrong about anything — certainly not about his Aryanist views. He withdrew from public attention and worked quietly for a few years as a consultant to the chief of staff of the US Air Force. One could easily surmise that during this time-out from public life, Lindbergh, who was by now no novice to using the power of the media to his advantage, must have figured that the best way to undo his damaged reputation would be to once again play up his exploits as the Great Aviator and tout his dubious achievements of being The First. In 1953, after 25 years of coasting on his popularity with a misinformed public about his being the “first” to fly cross the Atlantic, Lindbergh published a self-promoting autobiographical work, The Spirit of St. Louis, which won him the Pulitzer Prize (credit where credit is due, it was actually some good writing).

In a two-part narrative “about flying and an aviator’s life in the beginning of the 20th century,” Lindbergh detailed the planning and execution of “the first nonstop flight between the continents of North America and Europe.” Interestingly, the book was 14 years in the making before its release, and numerous revisions were made to the manuscript afterwards, in many places. By 1954, Lindbergh had re-emerged with a Pulitzer Prize in hand, and his untruthful and undeserved reputation of being the “first” and therefore “best” had been restored; his controversial racist and political views were now suddenly overlooked and forgotten, displaced by his comeback fame. President Dwight D. Eisenhower matched the new turn in public opinion by restoring Lindbergh’s commission and appointing him a Brigadier General in the Air Force. PanAm eventually hired Lindbergh as a consultant and he helped to design the Boeing 747 jet for them. In his later years, Lindbergh became interested in global environmental problems and traveled extensively to promote these causes.

He emphasized his love of both technology and nature, and a lifelong belief that “all the achievements of mankind have value only to the extent that they preserve and improve the quality of life.” In a 1967 Life magazine article, he said, “The human future depends on our ability to combine the knowledge of science with the wisdom of wildness.” (To those of you who believe that such benevolent thoughts of humankind’s harmony with nature could not possibly originate from anyone with a mean bone in their body, much less an ardent racist, please bear in mind that Hitler was a vegetarian who preferred the company of animals to people.) Lindbergh is also known for the tragic kidnapping and murder of his infant son, Charles Augustus Lindbergh Jr., in 1932, which came to be known as the “Crime of the Century.” The resultant trial generated so much media interest it was called the “biggest story since the Resurrection.”[ 4 ] (see The Lindbergh Kidnapping on Wikipedia).

Among his lesser claims to fame, Lindbergh is supposed to have been the “first” to come up with the idea of an artificial heart, and had approached French surgeon Alexis Carrel with a design in the early 1930’s. But among other laughable and dubious claims repeated across the Internet, is one of Lindbergh “inventing” space travel. That would be equivalent to “Al Gore invented the Internet” (although he never actually claimed that, by the way). If Lindbergh, who died in 1974, was such an eager achiever and perfectionist, the question that begs to be asked is: why didn’t he just tell the truth, that he was never the first person to fly across the Atlantic? The answer may be that he was simply a man who lived a lie. That would be plausible, considering not only his double-speak about where his true loyalties lay in WWII, but the fact that he had numerous secret love affairs and even maintained a secret second and third family, which resulted in seven illegitimate children. In 2003, DNA tests on three German siblings confirmed that the famed aviator was their father.

David and Dyrk Hesshaimer, and Astrid Bouteuil, who requested the tests, said that Lindbergh had carried out an affair with their mother, Brigitte Hesshaimer, from 1957 until his death in 1974. It was later revealed that Lindbergh also had four other children in Europe: Two by Hesshaimer’s sister Marietta, and another two by his personal secretary, Veleska.[ 7 ] Lindbergh’s rewriting of history has been so succesful that, despite these posthumous revelations, he will probably continue to be hailed a hero in history books for generations to come. To me however, he is no hero, just a great achiever, but the kind who died never doing the right thing. Was Lindbergh a Nazi? — Lindbergh accepted honors from the Nazi government in 1938. In 1941, he advocated noninterventionist policies against Axis aggression, using as his platform the America First Committee (an American isolationist organization). He further used his fame to spread this message internationally, preaching the futility of resisting German advances politically and militarily.

His writings are replete with references to anti-Semitism, Aryanism and the racial superiority of whites. He said, “Racial strength is vital—politics, a luxury.” Many of his statements echoed Hitler word for word, blaming the Jews for stirring up conflict. No. 37: Flying Across the Atlantic FLYING ACROSS THE ATLANTIC Click here for audio of Episode 37. Today, we think about flying across the Atlantic. The University of Houston's College of Engineering presents this series about the machines that make our civilization run, and the people whose ingenuity created them. Dozens of people had flown the Atlantic ocean by the time Lindbergh made his historical non-stop flight from New York to Paris in 1927. The first flight was made in May 1919 from New York to Plymouth, England, in a six-man, four-engine navy flying boat. But it stopped in the Azores and Lisbon on the way. That same month, Raymond Orteig of New York City offered a $25,000 prize for the first non-stop airplane flight from New York to Paris. Just one month later, Alcock and Brown flew a two-engine airplane non-stop from St.

John's, Newfoundland, to Clifden, Ireland. In July 1919 a British dirigible flew from England to New Jersey and back. And in 1922 two Portuguese aviators, Cabral and Coutinho, flew a single-engine British seaplane from Lisbon to Rio de Janeiro. That's a longer flight than Lindbergh's, but there's a catch. The flight didn't only involve a stop -- they actually changed airplanes on a small Atlantic island. More New York-to-England flights followed in 1924. And in 1924 a Zeppelin dirigible flew from Friedrichshaven to Lakehurst, New Jersey. Finally, in 1927, seven transatlantic heavier-than-air flights were made, of which Lindbergh's was the third. That might lead you to wonder what was so special about Lindbergh's accomplishment. Well, it was the longest non-stop, heavier-than-air transatlantic flight, and the first solo crossing. That's how he picked up the nickname, "The Lone Eagle." And, of course, his flight finally fulfilled the conditions of the Orteig prize, which had, by then, been open for over eight years.

Prevailing headwinds made it a lot harder to fly from Europe to America. The first solo heavier-than-air flight from east to west wasn't made until 1932. The pilot's name was James Mollison, and he flew only from Ireland to New Brunswick. And commercial transatlantic flights? Well, they had to wait until the late 1930s -- about 20 years after the first transatlantic crossing, and 35 years after the Wright brothers. Still, Lindbergh's flight was the one that riveted the public awareness; and it's worth saying something about his airplane. Lindbergh was a determined airmail pilot who finally found a like-minded designer at the tiny Ryan airplane company. Ryan specially built the Spirit of St. Louis in just two months' time for Lindbergh. They've called him "Lucky Lindy." Maybe he was lucky for having found the right engineer at the right time. I'm John Lienhard, at the University of Houston, where we're interested in the way inventive minds work. (Theme music) Angelucci, E., World Encyclopedia of Civil Aircraft: From Leonardo da Vinci to the Present.

New York: Crown Publishers, 1982. Markham, B., West with the Night. San Francisco: North Point Press, 1983 (1st ed., 1942.) This episode has been greatly revised as Episode 1362 .

Question: Who made the first solo non-stop crossing of the Atlantic in 1927?
Answer: Charles Lindbergh