Lindbergh lands in Paris - May 21, 1927 - HISTORY.com Lindbergh lands in Paris Publisher A+E Networks American pilot Charles A. Lindbergh lands at Le Bourget Field in Paris, successfully completing the first solo, nonstop transatlantic flight and the first ever nonstop flight between New York to Paris. His single-engine monoplane, The Spirit of St. Louis, had lifted off from Roosevelt Field in New York 33 1/2 hours before. Charles Augustus Lindbergh, born in Detroit in 1902, took up flying at the age of 20. In 1923, he bought a surplus World War I Curtiss “Jenny” biplane and toured the country as a barnstorming stunt flyer. In 1924, he enrolled in the Army Air Service flying school in Texas and graduated at the top of his class as a first lieutenant. He became an airmail pilot in 1926 and pioneered the route between St. Louis and Chicago. Among U.S. aviators, he was highly regarded.

In May 1919, the first transatlantic flight was made by a U.S. hydroplane that flew from New York to Plymouth, England, via Newfoundland, the Azores Islands, and Lisbon. Later that month, Frenchman Raymond Orteig, an owner of hotels in New York, put up a purse of $25,000 to the first aviator or aviators to fly nonstop from Paris to New York or New York to Paris. In June 1919, the British fliers John W. Alcock and Arthur W. Brown made the first nonstop transatlantic flight, flying 1,960 miles from Newfoundland to Ireland. The flight from New York to Paris would be nearly twice that distance. Orteig said his challenge would be good for five years. In 1926, with no one having attempted the flight, Orteig made the offer again. By this time, aircraft technology had advanced to a point where a few thought such a flight might be possible. Several of the world’s top aviators–including American polar explorer Richard Byrd, French flying ace Rene Fonck–decided to accept the challenge, and so did Charles Lindbergh.

Lindbergh convinced the St. Louis Chamber of Commerce to sponsor the flight, and a budget of $15,000 was set. The Ryan Airlines Corporation of San Diego volunteered to build a single-engine aircraft to his specifications. Extra fuel tanks were added, and the wing span was increased to 46 feet to accommodate the additional weight. The main fuel tank was placed in front of the cockpit because it would be safest there in the event of a crash. This meant Lindbergh would have no forward vision, so a periscope was added. To reduce weight, everything that was not utterly essential was left out. There would be no radio, gas gauge, night-flying lights, navigation equipment, or parachute. Lindbergh would sit in a light seat made of wicker. Unlike other aviators attempting the flight, Lindbergh would be alone, with no navigator or co-pilot. The aircraft was christened The Spirit of St. Louis, and on May 12, 1927, Lindbergh flew it from San Diego to New York, setting a new record for the fastest transcontinental flight. Bad weather delayed Lindbergh’s transatlantic attempt for a week.

On the night of May 19, nerves and a newspaperman’s noisy poker game kept him up all night. Early the next morning, though he hadn’t slept, the skies were clear and he rushed to Roosevelt Field on Long Island. Six men had died attempting the long and dangerous flight he was about to take. At 7:52 a.m. EST on May 20, The Spirit of St. Louis lifted off from Roosevelt Field, so loaded with fuel that it barely cleared the telephone wires at the end of the runway. Lindbergh traveled northeast up the coast. After only four hours, he felt tired and flew within 10 feet of the water to keep his mind clear. As night fell, the aircraft left the coast of Newfoundland and set off across the Atlantic. At about 2 a.m. on May 21, Lindbergh passed the halfway mark, and an hour later dawn came. Soon after, The Spirit of St. Louis entered a fog, and Lindbergh struggled to stay awake, holding his eyelids open with his fingers and hallucinating that ghosts were passing through the cockpit. After 24 hours in the air, he felt a little more awake and spotted fishing boats in the water.

At about 11 a.m. (3 p.m. local time), he saw the coast of Ireland. Despite using only rudimentary navigation, he was two hours ahead of schedule and only three miles off course. He flew past England and by 3 p.m. EST was flying over France. It was 8 p.m. in France, and night was falling. At the Le Bourget Aerodrome in Paris, tens of thousands of Saturday night revelers had gathered to await Lindbergh’s arrival. At 10:24 a.m. local time, his gray and white monoplane slipped out of the darkness and made a perfect landing in the air field. The crowd surged on The Spirit of St. Louis, and Lindbergh, weary from his 33 1/2-hour, 3,600-mile journey, was cheered and lifted above their heads. He hadn’t slept for 55 hours. Two French aviators saved Lindbergh from the boisterous crowd, whisking him away in an automobile. He was an immediate international celebrity.

President Calvin Coolidge dispatched a warship to take the hero home, and “Lucky Lindy” was given a ticker-tape parade in New York and presented with the Congressional Medal of Honor. His place in history, however, was not complete. In 1932, he was the subject of international headlines again when his infant son, Charles Jr., was kidnapped, unsuccessfully ransomed, and then found murdered in the woods near the Lindbergh home. German-born Bruno Richard Hauptmann was convicted of the crime in a controversial trial and then executed. Then, in the late 1930s and early 1940s, Lindbergh became a spokesperson for the U.S. isolationism movement and was sharply criticized for his apparent Nazi sympathies and anti-Semitic views. After the outbreak of World War II, the fallen hero traveled to the Pacific as a military observer and eventually flew more than two dozen combat missions, including one in which he downed a Japanese aircraft. Lindbergh’s war-time service largely restored public faith in him, and for many years later he worked with the U.S. government on aviation issues. In 1954, President Dwight D.

Eisenhower appointed him brigadier general in the Air Force Reserve. He died in Hawaii in 1974. Lindbergh’s autobiographical works include “We” (1927), The Spirit of St. Louis (1953) and The Wartime Journals of Charles A. Lindbergh (1970). More on This Topic First Solo Transatlantic Flight: Charles Lindbergh, Spirit of St. Louis 1927 Fox Kinograms Newsreel - YouTube First Solo Transatlantic Flight: Charles Lindbergh, Spirit of St. Louis 1927 Fox Kinograms Newsreel 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. Published on Oct 22, 2012 more at "Aviator Charles A.

Lindbergh takes off from New York on his solo transatlantic flight between America and Europe and arrives in Paris; newsreels conclude with his return to the U.S." Public domain film from the Library of Congress Prelinger Archive, slightly cropped to remove uneven edges, with the aspect ratio corrected, and mild video noise reduction applied. The soundtrack was also processed with volume normalization, noise reduction, clipping reduction, and/or equalization (the resulting sound, though not perfect, is far less noisy than the original). 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 took off in the Spirit from Roosevelt Airfield, Garden City (Long Island), New York and landed 33 hours, 30 minutes later at Aéroport Le Bourget in Paris, France, a distance of approximately 3,600 miles (5,800 km.).

Lindbergh's Spirit of St. Louis is one of the best known aircraft in the world due to the transatlantic flight brought fame to Ryan Airlines, the original Ryan company. But, although the names "Ryan" and "Ryan Airlines" appear on the plane, history has overlooked the other name closely intertwined with the legend of "Lucky Lindy" and his Spirit, Benjamin Franklin Mahoney, owner of Ryan Airlines... Officially known as the Ryan NYP (for New York to Paris), the single engine monoplane was designed by Donald A. Hall of the aircraft manufacturer Ryan Airlines located in San Diego, California, and was named The Spirit of St. Louis in honor of Lindbergh's supporters from The St. Louis Raquette Club in his then hometown of St. Louis, Missouri. To save design time, the NYP was loosely based on the company's 1926 Ryan M-2 mailplane with the main difference being the 4,000 mile range of the NYP, and as a non-standard design the Government assigned it the registration number N-X-211 (for "experimental"). Hall documented his design in "Engineering Data on the Spirit of St.

Louis" which he prepared for the US NACA and is included as an appendix to Lindbergh's 1953 Pulitzer Prize winning book, The Spirit of St. Louis... Lindbergh believed that multiple engines resulted in a greater chance of failure while a single engine design would give him greater range. To increase fuel efficiency, the Spirit of St. Louis was also one of the most advanced and aerodynamically streamlined designs of its era. Lindbergh believed that a flight made in a single-seat monoplane designed around the dependable Wright J-5C "Whirlwind" radial engine provided the best chance of success. The Ryan NYP had a fuel capacity of 450 U.S. gallons (1,700 L; 370 imp gal) or 2,385 pounds (1,082 kg) which was necessary in order to have the range to make the anticipated flight non-stop. The large main fuel tank was placed in the forward section of the fuselage, in front of the pilot, which improved the center of gravity.

While locating fuel tanks at the front reduced the risk of the pilot's being crushed to death in the event of a crash, this design decision also meant that there could be no front windshield, and that forward visibility would be limited to side windows only... Lindbergh sat in a cramped cockpit which was 94 cm wide, 81 cm long and 130 cm high (36 in × 32 in × 51 in)... The Spirit of St. Louis was powered by a 223-horsepower (166 kW), air-cooled, 9-cylinder Wright J-5C "Whirlwind" radial engine. The engine was rated for a maximum operating time of 9,000 hours... It was also, for its day, very fuel efficient enabling longer flights carrying less fuel weight for given distances. Another key feature of Lindbergh's radial engine was that it was rated to self-lubricate the engine's valves for 40 hours continuously...

Charles Augustus Lindbergh (February 4, 1902 -- August 26, 1974) (nicknamed "Slim", "Lucky Lindy", and "The Lone Eagle") was an American aviator, author, inventor, explorer, and social activist. As a 25-year-old U.S. Air Mail pilot, Lindbergh emerged suddenly from virtual obscurity to instantaneous world fame as the result of his Orteig Prize-winning solo non-stop flight on May 20--21, 1927, made from Roosevelt Field located in Garden City on New York's Long Island to Le Bourget Field in Paris, France, a distance of nearly 3,600 statute miles (5,800 km), in the single-seat, single-engine purpose built Ryan monoplane Spirit of St. Louis. Lindbergh, a U.S. Army Air Corps Reserve officer, was also awarded the nation's highest military decoration, the Medal of Honor, for his historic exploit...

Category Lindbergh Flies the Atlantic, 1927 Lindbergh Flies the Atlantic, 1927 Printer Friendly Version >>> 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 Mail pilot Lindbergh loads his plane for the first mail flight between St. Louis and Chicago, 1925 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 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: ADVERTISMENT "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 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: Lindbergh fills his plane with gas prior to his flight "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 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.

President Coolidge presents Lindbergh Lindbergh's Transatlantic Flight: New York to Paris Timeline You are here: Home | New York to Paris Timeline Lindbergh's Transatlantic Flight: New York to Paris Timeline, May 20-21, 1927 7:52am - Charles Lindbergh takes off from Roosevelt Field, Long Island, New York. The heavy plane, loaded with 450 gallons of fuel, clears telephone wires at the end of the runway by only 20 feet. 8:52am - Altitude: 500 ft. Wind velocity: 0 mph. Currently over Rhode Island. Except for some turbulence, the flight over Long Island Sound and Connecticut was uneventful. Only 3,500 miles to Paris. 9:52am - Boston lies behind the plane; Cape Cod is to the right. Altitude: 150 ft. Airspeed: 107 mph. Wind velocity: 0 mph. 10:52am - There's a breeze blowing from the NW at 10mph. Lindbergh begins to feel tired, although only four hours have passed since leaving New York.

He descends and flies within ten feet of the water to help keep his mind clear. 11:52am - Four hundred miles from New York. Altitude: 200 ft. Nova Scotia appears ahead. After flying over the Gulf of Maine, the Spirit of St. Louis is only six miles, or 2 degrees, off course. 12:52pm - Wind velocity has increased to 30 mph. Lindbergh flies over a mountain range. Clouds soon appear and thicken as the Spirit of St. Louis approaches a storm front. 2:52pm - Altitude: 600 ft. Air speed: 96 mph. Lindbergh's course takes him away from the edge of the storm. Wind velocity has dropped to 15 mph. 3:52pm - The eastern edge of Nova Scotia's Cape Breton Island lies below. In minutes Lindbergh will be over water again. Although it's only the afternoon of the first day, Lindbergh struggles to stay awake. 5:52pm - Flying along the southern coast of Newfoundland. Altitude: 300 ft. Air speed: 92 mph.

Wind velocity: 20 mph. 7:52pm - Stars begin to appear in the sky as night falls. The sea below is completely obscured by fog. Lindbergh climbs from an altitude of 800 ft to 7500 ft to stay above the quickly-rising cloud. 8:52pm - Altitude: 10,000 ft. The cloud that first appeared as fog is still below. A thunderhead looms ahead. Lindbergh files into the towering cloud, then turns back after noticing ice forming on the plane. 10:52pm - Lindbergh's fight to keep his eyelids open continues. To keep warm, Lindbergh considers closing the plane's windows, but then decides that he needs the cold, fresh air to help stay awake. 11:52pm - Altitude: 10,000 ft. Air speed: 90 mph. Five hundred miles from Newfoundland. The air has warmed -- there's no ice remaining on the plane. 1:52am - Halfway to Paris. Eighteen hours into the flight.

Instead of feeling as though he should celebrate (as he had planned), Lindbergh feels only dread: eighteen long hours to go. 2:52am - Daylight! Because Lindbergh has travelled through several time zones, dawn comes earlier. The light revives the pilot for a while, but then drowsiness returns. He even falls asleep, but only for a moment. 4:52am - Flying in the fog. Lindbergh continually falls asleep with his eyes open, then awakens seconds, possibly minutes, later. The pilot also begins to hallucinate. Finally, after flying for hours in or above the fog, the skies begin to clear. 7:52am - Twenty-four hours have elapsed since taking off from New York. Lindbergh does not feel as tired. 9:52am - Several small fishing boats spotted. Lindbergh circles and flies by closely, hoping to yell for directions, but no fishermen appear on the boats' decks. 10:52am - Local time: 3:00pm. Lindbergh spots land to his left and veers toward it. Refering to his charts, he identifies the land to be the southern tip of Ireland.

The Spirit of St. Louis is 2.5 hours ahead of schedule and less than three miles off course. 12:52pm - Wanting to reach the French coast in daylight, Lindbergh increases air speed to 110 mph. The English coast appears ahead. The pilot is now wide awake. 2:52pm - The sun sets as the Spirit of St. Louis flies over the coastal French town of Cherbourg. Only two hundred miles to Paris. 5:22pm - The Spirit of St. Louis touches down at the Le Bourget Aerodrome, Paris, France. Local time: 10:22pm. Total flight time: 33 hours, 30 minutes, 29.8 seconds. Charles Lindbergh had not slept in 55 hours. Photos: On this day in 1927, Charles Lindbergh begins first solo transatlantic flight News Photos: On this day in 1927, Charles Lindbergh begins first solo transatlantic flight Charles Lindbergh flies "The Spirit of St.

Louis" out of Roosevelt Field in New York, May 20, 1927, as he begins his flight to Paris to be the first to complete a non-stop transcontinental flight. (AP Photo) Posted: # Comments On this Day - May 20, 1927 - Charles Lindbergh flies "The Spirit of St. Louis" out of Roosevelt Field in New York. Lindbergh landed his single-engine monoplane at Le Bourget Airfield in Paris, France, on May 21, 1927, to complete the first non-stop solo flight across the Atlantic Ocean. He made the historic 3,610-mile journey from New York's Roosevelt Field in a record-breaking 33 1/2 hours. Lindbergh's extraordinary endurance feat in early aviation history brought him worldwide adulation and a celebrity status as an American hero.

(AP) 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. Biography: Charles Lindbergh (1902-1974): Made the First Solo Nonstop Flight Across the Atlantic Ocean (VOA Special English 2007-05-15) Charles Lindbergh (1902-1974): Made the First Solo Nonstop Flight Across the Atlantic Ocean Download MP3 (Right-click or option-click the link.) EXPLORATIONS -- a program in Special English by the Voice of America.

Today, Richard Rael and Shep O'Neal tell the story of one of America's most famous pilots, Charles Lindbergh. Charles Lindbergh is probably one of the best-known people in the history of flight. He was a hero of the world. Yet, years later, he was denounced as an enemy of his country. He had what is called a "storybook" marriage and family life. Yet he suffered a terrible family tragedy. Charles Lindbergh was born in the city of Detroit, Michigan, on February fourth, nineteen-oh-two. He grew up on a farm in Minnesota. His mother was a school teacher. His father was a lawyer who later became a United States congressman. The family spent ten years in Washington, D.C. while Mr. Lindbergh served in the Congress. Young Charles studied mechanical engineering for a time at the University of Wisconsin. But he did not like sitting in a classroom. So, after one-and-one-half years, he left the university. He traveled around the country on a motorcycle. He settled in Lincoln, Nebraska. He took his first flying lessons there and passed the test to become a flier. But he had to wait one year before he could fly alone.

That is how long it took him to save five hundred dollars to buy his own plane. Charles Lindbergh later wrote about being a new pilot. He said he felt different from people who never flew. "In flying," he said, "I tasted a wine of the gods of which people on the ground could know nothing." He said he hoped to fly for at least ten years. After that, if he died in a crash, he said it would be all right. He was willing to give up a long, normal life for a short, exciting life as a flier. From Nebraska, Lindbergh moved to San Antonio, Texas, where he joined the United States Army Air Corps Reserve. When he finished flight training school, he was named best pilot in his class. After he completed his Army training, the Robertson Aircraft Company of Saint Louis hired him. His job was to fly mail between Saint Louis and Chicago. Lindbergh flew mostly at night through all kinds of weather. Two times, fog or storms forced him to jump out of his plane. Both times, he landed safely by parachute.

Other fliers called him "Lucky Lindy." In nineteen nineteen, a wealthy hotel owner in New York City offered a prize for flying across the Atlantic Ocean without stopping. The first pilot who flew non-stop from New York to Paris would get twenty-five thousand dollars. A number of pilots tried. Several were killed. After eight years, no one had won the prize. Charles Lindbergh believed he could win the money if he could get the right airplane. A group of businessmen in Saint Louis agreed to provide most of the money he needed for the kind of plane he wanted. He designed the aircraft himself for long-distance flying. It carried a large amount of fuel. Some people described it as a "fuel tank with wings, a motor and a seat." Lindbergh named it the Spirit of Saint Louis. In May, nineteen twenty-seven, Lindbergh flew his plane from San Diego, California, to an airfield outside New York City. He made the flight in the record time of twenty-one hours, twenty minutes. At the New York airfield, he spent a few days preparing for his flight across the Atlantic. He wanted to make sure his plane's engine worked perfectly. He loaded a rubber boat in case of emergency.

He also loaded some food and water, but only enough for a meal or two. "If I get to Paris," Lindbergh said, "I will not need any more food or water than that. If I do not get to Paris, I will not need any more, either." May twentieth started as a rainy day. But experts told Lindbergh that weather conditions over the Atlantic Ocean were improving. A mechanic started the engine of the Spirit of Saint Louis. "It sounds good to me," the mechanic said. "Well, then," said Lindbergh, "I might as well go." The plane carried a heavy load of fuel. It struggled to fly up and over the telephone wires at the end of the field. Then, climbing slowly, the Spirit of Saint Louis flew out of sight. Lindbergh was on his way to Paris. Part of the flight was through rain, sleet and snow. At times, Lindbergh flew just three meters above the water. At other times, he flew more than three thousand meters up. He said his greatest fear was falling asleep. He had not slept the night before he left.

During the thirty-three-hour flight, thousands of people waited by their radios to hear if any ships had seen Lindbergh's plane. There was no news from Lindbergh himself. He did not carry a radio. He had removed it to provide more space for fuel. On the evening of May twenty-first, people heard the exciting news. Lindbergh had landed at Le Bourget airport near Paris. Even before the plane's engine stopped, Lindbergh and the Spirit of Saint Louis were surrounded by a huge crowd of shouting, crying, joyful people. From the moment he landed in France, he was a hero. The French, British and Belgian governments gave him their highest honors. Back home in the United States, he received his own country's highest awards. The cities of Washington and New York honored him with big parades. He flew to cities all over the United States for celebrations. He also flew to several Latin American countries as a representative of the United States government. During a trip to Mexico, he met Anne Morrow, the daughter of the American ambassador. They were married in nineteen twenty-nine. Lindbergh taught his new wife to fly. Together, they made many long flights. Life seemed perfect. Then, everything changed.

On a stormy night in nineteen thirty-two, kidnappers took the baby son of Charles and Anne Lindbergh from their home in New Jersey. Ten weeks later, the boy's body was found. Police caught the murderer several years later. A court found him guilty and sentenced him to death. The kidnapping and the trial were big news. Reporters gave the Lindberghs no privacy. So Charles and Anne fled to Britain and then to France to try to escape the press. They lived in Europe for four years. But they saw the nations of Europe preparing for war. They returned home before war broke out in nineteen thirty-nine. Charles Lindbergh did not believe the United States should take part in the war. He made many speeches calling for the United States to remain neutral. He said he did not think the other countries of Europe could defeat the strong military forces of Germany. He said the answer was a negotiated peace. President Franklin Roosevelt did not agree. A Congressman speaking for the president called Lindbergh an enemy of his country. Many people also criticized Lindbergh for not returning a medal of honor he received from Nazi Germany. Charles Lindbergh no longer was America's hero.

Lindbergh stopped calling for American neutrality two years later, when Japan attacked the United States navy base at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. The attack brought America into the war. Lindbergh spent the war years as an advisor to companies that made American warplanes. He also helped train American military pilots. Although he was a civilian, he flew about fifty combat flights. Lindbergh loved flying. But flying was not his only interest. While living in France, he worked with a French doctor to develop a mechanical heart. He helped scientists to discover Maya Indian ruins in Mexico. He became interested in the cultures of people from African countries and from the Philippines. And he led campaigns to make people understand the need to protect nature and the environment. Charles Lindbergh died in nineteen seventy-four, once again recognized as an American hero. President Gerald Ford said Lindbergh represented all that was best in America -- honesty, courage and the desire to succeed. Today, the Spirit of Saint Louis -- the plane Lindbergh flew to Paris -- hangs in the Air and Space Museum in Washington, D.C. And the man who flew it -- Charles Lindbergh -- remains a symbol of the skill and courage that opened the skies to human flight.

This Special English program was written by Marilyn Rice Christiano. Your narrators were Richard Rael and Shep O'Neal. I'm Shirley Griffith. Amelia Earhart’s Historic Landing, 80 Years Ago - History in the Headlines Amelia Earhart’s Historic Landing, 80 Years Ago May 21, 2012 By Jennie Cohen (Credit: Keystone-FranceGamma-Rapho via Getty Images) Share this: Amelia Earhart’s Historic Landing, 80 Years Ago Author Amelia Earhart’s Historic Landing, 80 Years Ago URL Google Eighty-five years ago today, aviator Charles Lindbergh landed his single-engine monoplane Spirit of St. Louis in Paris, France, completing the first solo nonstop flight across the Atlantic. Five years later Amelia Earhart set out to recreate his historic journey, becoming the second person and first woman to accomplish the feat. She succeeded, but not by following in Lindbergh’s exact contrails. When the scarlet Lockheed Vega touched down, scattering a herd of cows, farmhand Dan McCallion crossed himself.

He puzzled at the grease-smeared face and tousled hair of the pilot who emerged from the cockpit, unsure whether a man or woman had landed in his boss’ Londonderry meadow. “Have you flown far?” he finally asked. “From America,” answered Amelia Earhart. Earhart had spent the last 15 hours tossed by dangerous storms over the North Atlantic, contending with failing machinery and sipping a can of tomato juice to calm her queasy stomach. That day—May 21, 1932—she planned to end her journey at Paris’ Le Bourget airfield, where exactly five years earlier Charles Lindbergh had completed the first solo transatlantic flight. When her Vega’s reserve fuel tank sprang a leak and flames began engulfing the exhaust manifold, however, Earhart wound up navigating to a Northern Ireland pasture. “I was never in Ireland before,” Earhart later told reporters, “but the sight of the thatched cottages and the marvelous green grass and trees left me no doubt that I had actually made the Emerald Isle.

I was still surer when I heard the brogue of my friend Dan McCallion.” Though she’d only taken off from Newfoundland on May 20, Earhart’s historic crossing was set in motion several years earlier. After Lindbergh flew across the Atlantic in 1927, steel heiress and aviation enthusiast Amy Phipps Guest determined to prove a woman could do the same. She arranged for Earhart, then a social worker with a passion for flying, to accompany pilot Wilmer Stultz on a jaunt from Newfoundland to Wales in June 1928. Thrust into the spotlight as the first woman to soar over the pond, Earhart smarted at the attention, particularly when the press likened her to Lindbergh and dubbed her “Lady Lindy.” She repeatedly emphasized that she’d been a mere passenger on the trip, never even touching the controls, and didn’t deserve any accolades. “I was just baggage, like a sack of potatoes,” she gloomily reminded a journalist. “Maybe someday I’ll try it alone.” Four years later, as the five-year anniversary of Lindbergh’s feat approached, Earhart had racked up enough training hours to feel ready.

Many pilots had vied to become the second person to cross the Atlantic alone, but so far all had failed. One of them, the female aviator Ruth Nichols, was poised to make another attempt, and her plans goaded Earhart to act fast. When she encountered Dan McCallion 80 years ago, Earhart knew she’d made history in her own right. Shortly thereafter, after drinking some water and washing up, the exhausted aviator hitched a ride into town, where she called her husband, George Putnam, and told him rumors of a crash in France had been greatly exaggerated. She then spent the night with the Gallegher family, owners of the farm where her plane still smoldered. The following day reporters materialized and armfuls of congratulatory correspondence began arriving. Charles Lindbergh and his wife Anne, deep in mourning after the discovery days earlier of their kidnapped son’s body, sent the first note. As the world celebrated Earhart’s triumph, some remained less effusive about her slightly abbreviated voyage—including her own sister. “Of course, any landing on land is good,” Muriel Earhart Morissey told The New York Times. “It is much better than if she’d landed in the water.

I am sorry she did not get all the way to Paris, but, after all, a landing in Ireland makes the trip a success.” Tags Charles Lindbergh Biography - First Solo Flight Across the Atlantic Charles Lindbergh Lindbergh's entry in the Hall of Fame of the Air Lindberg airmail stamp issued in 1927. Such was Lindbergh's fame that the Post Office broke its own rule against honoring living persons, although only Lindbergh's plane, not the man himself, was shown. Lindbergh, in one of the many parades in his honor, this one in Hartford, CT. Charles Lindbergh - The Lone Eagle First Man to Fly the Atlantic Solo By Stephen Sherman , Jan. 2001. Updated June 26, 2011. On May 20-21, 1927 Charles Lindbergh made the first solo, nonstop New York to Paris flight in the Spirit of St. Louis. After the 3,610-mile, 34 hour, flight across the Atlantic, Lindbergh became an international hero, and the most famous man in the world. Today, his airplane, the Spirit of St.

Louis, hangs in the atrium of the National Air and Space Museum. After bursting into international fame with his transatlantic flight, Lindbergh remained in the public eye, often the subject of controversy. Retiring in later years to the island of Maui, Hawaii, he died there in 1974. Youth Born on February 4, 1902 , Lindbergh was mechanically inclined from childhood. The son of a Swedish immigrant, Charles August "C.A." Lindbergh, and his second wife, Evangeline Land, young Charles had a rootless and somewhat solitary childhood. For many years he and his mother moved between their primary home in Little Falls, Minnesota, her family's house in Detroit, and Washington, D.C., where his Congressman father spent a most of his time. His father's house is now a National Historic Landmark. Charles had no siblings his age (two much older half-sisters) and few close friends his own age. He learned to love nature, the outdoors, solitude, and developed a passion for collecting and analyzing things.

Barnstormer & Air Mail Pilot Fascinated with aviation, he earned his pilot's license, and in 1923 bought a Jenny to take up barnstorming. In 1924, Lindbergh entered a U.S. Army flying school at San Antonio, Texas. He graduated first in his class the following year, then became the first air mail pilot between Chicago, Illinois, and St, Louis, Missouri. He became the first three-time member of the Caterpillar Club, that exclusive fraternity of people who had saved their lives with parachutes. While he loved flying of any sort, the airmail routine was tedious. He heard of a fine new airplane, the Wright Bellanca, whose engine promised to give it a range of 4,000 miles. He pondered what could be achieved in such a machine. His Transatlantic Flight In 1919, New York hotel businessman Raymond Orteig had offered a $25,000 prize for the first nonstop flight between New York and Paris. Several attempts had been made to capture the prize, notably by French WWI ace, Rene Fonck, in 1926.

The transatlantic challenge became somewhat of a national obsession. Lindbergh convinced a group of St. Louis businessmen to back him in an attempt to win the Orteig prize. They committed $10,000 for his plan. On a tight budget, he went looking for an airplane. At first, Charles Levine, the owner of the Wright Bellanca offered it to him for only $15,000, a great discount from its cost of $25,000. His backers okayed the extra funds. After excitedly traveling to New York to finalize the deal, Lindbergh was dismayed to learn that while Levine would sell him the Bellanca, he insisted on naming the pilot himself. Lindbergh looked for other aircraft. Other manufacturers were unhelpful. At this time, early 1927, the Orteig challenge was heating up, amidst great publicity. Rene Fonck was rumored to be preparing another attempt in a new Sikorsky biplane. Richard Byrd, of North Pole fame, had an expensive Fokker trimotor for his effort. Levine and Clarence Chamberlin announced they would try it in the Wright Bellanca.

Another pair of Americans, Noel Davis and Stanton Wooster, would also enter. The race was on. Spirit of St. Louis A small manufacturer, the Ryan Aeronautical Company of San Diego, agreed to build a plane for Lindbergh, for $6,000 plus the cost of the engine. He went to their small plant in San Diego and supervised the design modifications and the construction his monoplane. Essentially, the Spirit of St. Louis was a custom-built airplane, designed expressly to fly Lindbergh across the Atlantic. A. Scott Berg, in Lindbergh , called it a "two-ton flying gas tank." Lindbergh sacrificed every possible bit of weight for more fuel capacity. No parachute, no radio, no brakes, not even a forward-facing window (a small periscope would do). Twenty-seven feet long, as the design evolved, the wings grew to forty-five feet, to help lift the 2700 pounds (400+ gallons) of gas. The rest of the airplane, the engine, and its pilot only weighed about 2500 pounds.

Powered by a state-of-the-art 223hp Wright Whirlwind J-5C engine, the plane could cruise for 4,200 miles. Ryan employees worked day and night to finish the aircraft in just two months. Its tail identified the aircraft as "N-X-211 RYAN NYP" "N" was the international aeronautical code for the United States. "X" stood for experimental. It was the 211th such licensed plane. "RYAN NYP" abbreviated "Ryan New York - Paris." Check out the NASM Spirit of St. Louis web page. Engine installed, Ryan charged him $10,580. The press (Lindbergh's nemesis for the rest of his life) got word of this new entrant, and began to tell the country about the handsome young man and his bold, solitary plan. A lone pilot in a single-engine plane allowed little margin for error. In April, as the Spirit neared completion, Noel Davis and Stanton Wooster crashed and died while testing their plane, the American Legion. Commander Byrd's Fokker, America, cracked up and injured three of its crew.

Clarence Chamberlin and Levine's Bellanca, named the Columbia, smashed up it landing gear. By May, after short test flights around Southern California, Lindergh and the Spirit of St. Louis were ready. On the 8th came dramatic news, two French aviators, Charles Nungesser (a WW1 ace) and Francois Coli, had taken off from Paris in L'Oiseau Blanc, the White Bird. They were never heard from again. Undeterred, Lindbergh flew to New York. Stopping briefly in St. Louis to re-fuel, he set a new record for the California-to-New York run, flying it in less than 22 hours. Photographers and reporters greeted him on his arrival at Curtiss Field on Long Island. The other competitors had various problems - Levine was held up by lawsuits, Byrd's trimotor needed work. On the 19th, Lindbergh was ready. They needed to check out the plane thoroughly, which required several short flights around the field. As they finished the preparations for the long flight, reports came in of heavy fog over Nova Scotia and Newfoundland, postponing his take-off.

The Flight But on the morning of May 20, 1927, an improved weather forecast suggested no advantage in further delay. They installed and sealed the barograph, and serviced and checked the plane, then Lindbergh took off from Roosevelt Field on Long Island. For food, he brought five sandwiches. "If I get to Paris, I won't need any more. And if I don't get to Paris, I won't need any more, either," Lindbergh noted drily. Fox Movietone captured his Ryan monoplane, loaded with 451 gallons of fuel, struggling and bouncing along the runway, barely clearing the telephone wires at the far end. After clearing St. John's, Newfoundland, the 25-year old aviator was hidden from the world. The world waited, spell-bound for word of Lindbergh. Rumors flew. (My Dad, eight years old at the time, recalled waiting for news of Lindbergh. His older brother "came stumping into the house and reported that Lindbergh had crashed. My mother broke down and cried.

But of course it wasn't so." - SS) Encountering fog and sleet, he was compelled to fly blind part of the way at an altitude of 1500 feet. At times he flew only 10 feet above the waves. Sighting the coast of Ireland, he turned south towards France. He flew over England and the Channel, and sighted the lights of Paris at 10 o'clock. He shortly touched down at Paris' Le Bourget Field, 33 hours and 30 minutes after he left Long Island. He had covered a distance of 3,610 miles. By making the flight, Lindbergh collected Orteig's $25,000 prize. You can read an excellent book devoted to this event, entitled The Flight of the Century: Charles Lindbergh and the Rise of American Aviation The world, and his life, had changed forever. Hundreds of thousands of people met him in Paris. Lionized throughout the city, U.S. Ambassador Myron Herrick took him in, and even arranged for a tailor to sew him new clothes. His triumphant tour of Europe included meeting the kings of Belgium and Britain.

The picture at left shows him during a parade in his honor in Hartford, Connecticut, riding in a car with Governor John Trumbull and Mayor Houghton Bulkley. The U.S. Navy cruiser Memphis returned the hero to America. First to Washington, where President Coolidge received him, and then to New York City and its largest ticker tape parade ever. The U.S. Post Office issued an unprecedented commemorative airmail stamp in his honor. U.S. stamps never feature living persons, and thus only Lindbergh's plane and a map of his route were shown. As part of his backers' agreements, he had given the New York Times exclusive coverage of his story and the rights to his authorized story. Lindbergh was so disgusted with ghost-writer Carlyle MacDonald's corny and inaccurate articles that first appeared, he vowed to control anything ever published in his name. He also realized the importance of careful documentation, and began saving all his correspondence and personal papers. (This has been a boon to scholars and historians.) Committed to produce a 40,000 word book, he buried himself at Falaise, Harry Guggenheim's Long Island estate, and wrote We in one month.

It was well-written, spare and accurate, and became an immediate best-seller. (Check out a lengthy review of We at Amazon.) In December, 1927, he flew the Spirit to Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, and other Cental American countries. In Mexico, he first met Ambassador Dwight Morrow and his daughters. On his return to the U.S., he devoted himself to the development of aviation, helping to start the airline that would become TWA.

Question: At which Paris airfield did Charles Lindbergh complete the first solo transatlantic flight in 1927?
Answer: Le Bourget