The Spirit of ST Louis by Charles A. Lindbergh Read Free Book Online
Authors: Charles A. Lindbergh
Thompson's
insistence than because of my own interest. But the blunt statement that the Fokker Company won't sell a single-engined plane for my project wasn't what I expected from their sales representative. I've never known a salesman before this to question what a plane was going to be used for, if you had enough money to buy it. If you cracked up and killed yourself, that was your responsibility. It didn't mean there was anything wrong with the plane.
Well, the two men I've talked to about a New York-toParis flight are both prejudiced. One of them looks on the risk from the standpoint of an insurance executive. The other wants to sell and promote multiengined airplanes. But Earl Thompson is interested in the flight—that's the important thing; and there are other companies besides Fokker.
Flying to Chicago on the mail route in the evening, I decide to build up my backing in St. Louis, and then try to purchase the Wright-Bellanca. The Wright Corporation will certainly have confidence in its own engine; and since they don't make a multiengined plane, they should be in sympathy with my arguments against one.
Next week I have an appointment to talk to Major Lambert.
7
Major Lambert sits at his desk, alert, serious, looking at me through thick eyeglasses. His gray hair is thinning where he parts it in the center. He's immaculately dressed.
"That's quite a flight, Slim Do you really think it can be done?" he asks.
"Yes sir, I believe it can; but I'm going to be sure of my facts before I go much farther in laying plans. That's where I need help. I want to tell the manufacturers that responsible people are behind me. If they know my backing is sound, they'll give me all the information I want about costs and performances. Otherwise, they may think it's not worth while spending the time. I want to be in a good position to trade on prices, too. If I can say you're one of the men who's interested in this project, it will be a tremendous help – – – I won't make any commitments without getting your approval."
I lay my cards, face up, on the table, and explain the difficulties I'm confronted with.
Major Lambert, good old-timer that he is, doesn't raise any question about flying boats or multiengines. He has lived through too many years of aviation to be fooled by popular ideas of safety. He knows there's danger involved in all flying.
"If you think it's a practical venture, and if you can get the right fellows together, I'll take part, Slim," he says. "You can count on me for $1,000.
A thousand dollars! That's the first real money I've gotten. I'll put in $2,000 of my own; that's a total of $3,000. And Mr. Thompson is with me, even though he hasn't promised any definite amount. I hadn't planned on asking for money yet. Major Lambert just volunteered that thousand dollars. How like him—no halfway measures. He's either with you or isn't, and it doesn't take him long to decide.
Whom shall I go to next? Driving back to the field in my halfowned, secondhand Ford coupe, I feel that my New York-to-Paris flight is emerging from the stage of dreams: I have an organization under way. Now it's time to talk to Bill Robertson. I haven't said anything to him yet about my plans. I want to bring him something more tangible than an idea. He has enough on his hands keeping the mail route going without trying to finance a New York-to-Paris flight. A lot of people think he'll go broke flying the mail. They'll call him a wild man if he talks about flying the ocean too.
8
"Wheeuuu-u-u-u---." Major Bill Robertson whistles as he turns toward me on his swivel chair. "That's some flight, Slim. Do you really think it can be done? How many miles is it from New York to Paris?"
"It's about thirty-five hundred," I answer. "I know it's a long way, but I think the Bellanca can do it, and I'm going to find out."
"It doesn't seem possible to put that much gasoline in an airplane. Say, a plane like that could sure carry a lot
insistence than because of my own interest. But the blunt statement that the Fokker Company won't sell a single-engined plane for my project wasn't what I expected from their sales representative. I've never known a salesman before this to question what a plane was going to be used for, if you had enough money to buy it. If you cracked up and killed yourself, that was your responsibility. It didn't mean there was anything wrong with the plane.
Well, the two men I've talked to about a New York-toParis flight are both prejudiced. One of them looks on the risk from the standpoint of an insurance executive. The other wants to sell and promote multiengined airplanes. But Earl Thompson is interested in the flight—that's the important thing; and there are other companies besides Fokker.
Flying to Chicago on the mail route in the evening, I decide to build up my backing in St. Louis, and then try to purchase the Wright-Bellanca. The Wright Corporation will certainly have confidence in its own engine; and since they don't make a multiengined plane, they should be in sympathy with my arguments against one.
Next week I have an appointment to talk to Major Lambert.
7
Major Lambert sits at his desk, alert, serious, looking at me through thick eyeglasses. His gray hair is thinning where he parts it in the center. He's immaculately dressed.
"That's quite a flight, Slim Do you really think it can be done?" he asks.
"Yes sir, I believe it can; but I'm going to be sure of my facts before I go much farther in laying plans. That's where I need help. I want to tell the manufacturers that responsible people are behind me. If they know my backing is sound, they'll give me all the information I want about costs and performances. Otherwise, they may think it's not worth while spending the time. I want to be in a good position to trade on prices, too. If I can say you're one of the men who's interested in this project, it will be a tremendous help – – – I won't make any commitments without getting your approval."
I lay my cards, face up, on the table, and explain the difficulties I'm confronted with.
Major Lambert, good old-timer that he is, doesn't raise any question about flying boats or multiengines. He has lived through too many years of aviation to be fooled by popular ideas of safety. He knows there's danger involved in all flying.
"If you think it's a practical venture, and if you can get the right fellows together, I'll take part, Slim," he says. "You can count on me for $1,000.
A thousand dollars! That's the first real money I've gotten. I'll put in $2,000 of my own; that's a total of $3,000. And Mr. Thompson is with me, even though he hasn't promised any definite amount. I hadn't planned on asking for money yet. Major Lambert just volunteered that thousand dollars. How like him—no halfway measures. He's either with you or isn't, and it doesn't take him long to decide.
Whom shall I go to next? Driving back to the field in my halfowned, secondhand Ford coupe, I feel that my New York-to-Paris flight is emerging from the stage of dreams: I have an organization under way. Now it's time to talk to Bill Robertson. I haven't said anything to him yet about my plans. I want to bring him something more tangible than an idea. He has enough on his hands keeping the mail route going without trying to finance a New York-to-Paris flight. A lot of people think he'll go broke flying the mail. They'll call him a wild man if he talks about flying the ocean too.
8
"Wheeuuu-u-u-u---." Major Bill Robertson whistles as he turns toward me on his swivel chair. "That's some flight, Slim. Do you really think it can be done? How many miles is it from New York to Paris?"
"It's about thirty-five hundred," I answer. "I know it's a long way, but I think the Bellanca can do it, and I'm going to find out."
"It doesn't seem possible to put that much gasoline in an airplane. Say, a plane like that could sure carry a lot
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