Tag: Spirit of St. Louis

On a Philanderer

The title of this story isn’t exactly correct. The man in question wasn’t careless in his relationships with the women in his life in the sense that he had a series of anonymous affairs. No, rather, he carefully planned and took great pains to create the lives he lived with four different women over the course of over forty years. With these four women, the man had at least 13 children. At least, because those are only the relationships we know about.

The man, an American, traveled frequently for business. He was a consultant for several major airlines in the period after World War 2, and those travels took him often to Europe, specifically Germany. It was there that the American kept three of his “families” each made up of an adoring woman and her children. The children in one of the families knew him only as “Mr. Kent,” and he would visit them two to three times every year. On each visit, he would shower them with gifts and affection. Never, however, did the children learn that this man was actually their mother’s lover and their own father. The man had met their mother when he was in his 50s and she was only 31.

Another “family” the man had was with the sister of the first woman. Apparently, the two women never realized that the father of their children was actually the same man. This second family gave him two children. Again, the children had no idea that the tall, lanky American who came and went throughout the years was their father.

The third German family the man created was with his German secretary and translator. This woman birthed a son and daughter by the American. The same scenario played out with that group as well–gifts, rare visits, no acknowledgement of parentage.

Realize, please, that this man was happily married back in the United States. His American family had six children, although one of the children had died in infancy. The man’s wife never betrayed that she knew anything about her husband’s proclivities while he was alive. From all outward appearances, the couple appeared happy and content. None of the man’s friends suspected that he lived, well, not a double life, exactly, but more of a quadruple life. Years later, after finding out about the other siblings and the other women, one of the man’s children from his relationship with his wife bitterly commented that the complications and logistics of keeping at least four separate families must have been exhausting to her father.

This “busy” American man died in 1974. He reached out to each of the three German families shortly before his death, and he asked them to keep his involvement with them a secret. They did so–for over two more decades. When some of the children from these relationships finally discovered and then revealed who their father was, they said they weren’t looking for money. Rather, they only wanted simple acknowledgement.

And that’s how the world found out about the other families of that most famous of aviators, Charles Lindbergh.

On a Trans-Atlantic Flight

The race to be the first to cross the Atlantic between New York to Paris in either direction via an airplane began heating up in the mid-1920s. A cash prize of almost $400,000 was offered to the first who could make that trip without stopping for fuel or supplies or sleep. The prize was first made available in 1919, immediately after the war, but the long journey was so daunting that by 1927, no one had claimed it. The journey of over 3600 miles scared off almost all but the most fearless pilots.

And to accomplish such a feat took a large team—not only the pilots. The pilots were vital, of course, but there were teams of designers, engineers, efficiency experts, professionals in things like weight distribution and safety who had to be consulted and considered. For example, flying for hours over open water like the Atlantic meant that having to account for the real possibility of having to ditch in the ocean. What would that mean? How much lifesaving provision would be needed? So, the task took longer because of the vital logistics and the number of people surrounding it.

One such attempt at the journey left its origin on May 8, 1927. The pilot was well known and celebrated for his fearlessness and skill. The route is the same one that planes fly today; it’s called the Great Circle Route, and, instead of a direct line, it flies north in a semi-circle because, on a globe, that is shorter than flying around the larger part of the sphere. In the weeks and days leading up to the attempt, interviews with the pilot insured that the public, who were eager for such stories, knew every detail of the aircraft and the logistics that went into the courageous attempt to cross the Atlantic non-stop.

The take-off of the attempt took place amid throngs of well-wishers and cheering. Some other aircraft even accompanied the craft as far as the coast as a farewell escort, of sorts. After that, there were only a few sightings of the plane. One priest in Ireland swore he saw the plane. A British sub, also, said that its crew made a visual confirmation of the flight. After that, the craft was on its own over the deep, blue Atlantic for the next several hours.

And as the hours drew on, crowds of fans and media gathered at the arrival airport to welcome the plane that made history because they were sure such a well-planned flight could not help but be successful. As they waited for the landing and the celebration, rumors ran through the crowd. The flight was seen over the coast, or it had been spotted circling above the city, or it was due any moment. But, as the hours passed, it became evident what had happened. The aircraft carried enough fuel for 42 hours of flight—which should have been plenty of time to make the journey. Two days after take-off with no landing, however, told the story.

One of the largest air/sea search operations up to that point was dispatched to look for the plane. Nothing has ever been found of the aircraft or of its French pilot, Charles Nungesser, and his navigator, Francois Coli. Only twelve days after those two left Le Bourget Field in Paris to fly to New York, Charles Lindbergh, flying his Spirit of Saint Louis alone, left New York and arrived at Le Bourget 33 ½ hours later to a hero’s welcome.