One of the most indelible memories of my life is etched as clearly in my mind today as it was when it was formed on that sunny day in Cleveland in 1927. It was the day the legendary Charles Lindbergh visited Cleveland for a hero’s welcome soon after he recorded his historic first flight across the Atlantic in the Spirit of St. Louis, his single-engine aircraft.
The famed aviator was seated in the back seat of a limousine that drove through Cleveland’s Wade Park as thousands cheered. My Dad had hoisted me up on his shoulders so I could get a better look at the smiling, baby-faced Lindbergh. He was not only my hero. He was everybody’s hero.
What a feat it was! Every person in America had followed Lindy’s remarkable flight, which remains to this day one of history’s most dazzling adventures — flying alone across the Atlantic Ocean and landing in Paris in what now seems like a toy aircraft, and he did it without refueling.
The name, Lindy, was on everybody’s lips for years thereafter. Then tragedy struck and Anne and Charles Lindbergh’s first child was kidnapped and murdered. The entire world was horrified by the foul deed, and Congress was moved to adopt a law making kidnapping an act punishable by death.
The trial that resulted in the conviction and execution of Bruno Hauptmann was attended, I’m ashamed to say, by frequently grotesque, stupid coverage by the press, which treated the event as if it were a circus sideshow. It was one of the reasons Lindbergh became a recluse.
It was not only a sad day for Lindy. It was also a sad day for American journalism, as the gossip mongers serving as reporters covered the trial like bloodhounds on the trail of a rabbit.
Later, the heroic flyer would make his way back into the news with a warning concerning the growing air power created by Adolf Hitler and his generals. But he made the political mistake of urging the United States to remain neutral in the Second World War and refuse to become involved.
Virtually all Americans turned against Lindy because of his stand — and because of that trip he had made beforehand to visit Hitler. Lost in the ensuing drama was the report by an unidentified source that Lindbergh had actually gone to Germany to visit Hitler on a secret spying mission sponsored by the American military to assess the air and ground power of the Nazis. That report remains unverified, but since Lindbergh himself always remained a very private person, one may conjecture that it might be true.
From that time on for the rest of his days, Lindbergh withdrew from public life. I think Lindy, who died in 1974, was probably the loneliest and most tragic figure in American history. But he will always be one of the nation’s greatest heroes — particularly to that 8-year-old kid sitting on his father’s shoulders watching and waving that day in Cleveland’s Wade Park as the man who conquered the Atlantic rode by in the limousine.
And, despite the tragedies in Lindy’s life, he remains a national hero to this day to the aging, balding fellow who is writing this.







